


The Eventually Home

by Aberdeen1975



Category: American Horror Story, Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Ben Affleck as Batman, Children, Crime Fighting, Cross Over, Evil, F/F, F/M, Girls with Guns, Guns, M/M, Many Batman characters and villians, the dark knight rises - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aberdeen1975/pseuds/Aberdeen1975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was grief behind that crooked, Cheshire grin, held behind yellowed teeth and a stilled tongue, though only she could see it.</p><p>There was appreciation behind his anger and the abuse, though only she could see it, even through her swollen eye and the gleaming tears.</p><p>And only she could find the intention behind his closed lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Down the Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader,  
> This story is centred around Harley Quinn (who has been spliced with variations of the character) and a Heath Ledger/Batman The Animated Series, Joker. It will go between three parts of time; Before (when she is Harley Quinn), After (when she is alone, or so it seems) and The Long Passed (when she is still a doctor at Arkham).

There was grief behind that crooked, Cheshire grin, held behind yellowed teeth and a stilled tongue, though only she could see it.

There was _appreciation_ behind his anger and the abuse, though only she could see it, even through her swollen eye and the gleaming tears.

And only she could find the _intention_ behind his closed lips.

***

_Before._

Thick like shoe polish and black like raven's wings; her eyelashes full and long even without the mascara, though she put it on anyways for _him_. She fixed the black lipstick with her finger and scooped some of the synthetic gunk up underneath her long fingernail; she huffed. It had taken her a near hour to set the fake French manicure nails on her own natural ones after trimming them short and now they were already caked in black and white makeup. She stared, wretchedly, into the old fashioned dressing room mirror; it was perched upon a dusty vanity with small legs and framed by rounded light bulbs, a few were broken. Her makeup was perfectly neat and slick with a few speckles in the pasty face paint, her natural hair fell around her shoulders in untamed curls, but that was the only truth that framed her face. He covered himself too, but he did not try as hard as she did, it just came naturally, as though he washed the peach skin tone and _man_ off his face to reveal that horrific clown. She sighed, picking up the waiting cigarette that lay across the black glass ash tray, he always hated it when she smoked, and took a long drag off it before pulling her curls back into an old navy coloured hair tie and a knot. Then she lifted the bottle blonde wig off of the plastic manikin head, already put into neat pony tails, curled at the ends, and _perfect_. She pulled it over her head and straightened it, before grinning at herself in the mirror.

A wide, Cheshire grin, though not so wide as his.

Only she was still pretty, even in her makeup and, soon, her black and red jester attire; lovely body and petite stature. Only she was thicker for an hourglass, wide hips and full breasted. She wiggled into her tight costume, hopping and jigging along the dirty floor and kicking shards of glass and broken wood from the old, desolate building. She sighed as she had one of the freakishly large clown zip up her costume, putting her back into the crack of the slightly ajar door, before slamming it once more. She pulled on her mismatched gloves and then her little red and black booties; shoving her ponytails into the hollow bobbles and fixing her jester hat on her head. She buttoned it up around the neck, fastening it to the suit and buttoning it up her neck to her slightly pointed chin.

She stretched and practised movement around the small space that was set aside for her, the only place where he did not come with her. She flinched at the sudden, stern knock on the door and waited for a moment before he spoke. “ _Harley_?” He said in a sing song voice and she bit her lip, before releasing it and checking her makeup in the mirror. “Are you done yet?” The playful voice turned into a sharp hiss and she nodded her bed, before moving towards the door.

“Yes, puddin',” She said, snatching her snub nosed revolver off the table and a few of those silly burlap sacks that she had spent all night sewing garden green dollar signs to. “I'm comin'.” She replied in that _silly_ , ditzy voice she had to put on for him, to keep him entertained and to keep her humble. Though he caught her bobble, along with her enclosed ponytail, in a firm vise-like grip as she tried to get by him.

His black hooded eyes glared back at her, lips pulled into a jagged crimson line and he tugged her off to the side. He pushed her into the grimy stone wall, shoulders pinned by one simple hand and he released her hair. “I want you to stay back,” He told her and she listened, intently, with wide, adoring eyes and bobbed her head up and down at his words. “Closer to the exit while everyone moves through.”

“You don't want me in there?” She asked in a small voice, and she knew he would note the way the accent and gimmick disappeared.

“I want you out of sight, so you can run off if the pigs pop up. You're gonna wait in the alley and I'm, aaaa gonna go in by myself.” He put a splayed hand over his chest and she furrowed her brow at him.

“But,” She began and his lips peeled back into a snarl.

“Just shut up and stay in the van.” He snapped and turned his back upon her, moving towards the loading bay of the warehouse and she let out a small, pathetic noise.

“You're going alone?” She asked in a small voice, only he was already gone.

***

_After._

Soft snores sounded over the static that hissed and sizzled on the television screen casting a dim bright white glow over her sleeping form and her tidy living room. Harley lay curled into a neat ball on her side beneath a thin felt throw over blanket, a green glass bottle sat on the table in front of her face, empty and an unpleasant blandness slept with her, nestled on her tongue. Her wild brown curls spilled over the throw pillow and her long eyelashes sent small shadows down her round cheeks in the dim light. A stray creak in the old, big house sent her into an almost frenzied state as she jolted upright and looked around with wide eyes. She bit her bottom lip, hard, as she stared at the dark foot of the stair and hid behind the backing of the chesterfield, like a frightened child. “Peanut?” She asked the empty house, and then listened quietly for any sign of a reply, but there was nothing.

She let out the breath she did not realize she was holding and rested her head on the back of the chesterfield once more. Harley began to comb through her brown curls and coils with her dainty pale hands, and she realized she was shaking like a leaf.

She laughed then, soft and gentle, only because it made her feel better.

***

 _Before_.

The bank job went off without a hitch, as the white van whizzed around the corner and tossed her into the lap of some greasy henchman. “Ugh.” She cringed and shied away from him, into the rattling van wall and she scratched the side of her nose. “Did he get into the school bus okay?” Harley asked one of the henchmen and he said nothing, only stared at her with harsh eyes that seemed to strip her of her suit. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them, as though she were trying to stop him from stripping away an identity that wasn't hers. Harley looked around the dirty van with a sigh and felt alone suddenly. She used to feel like that whenever he wasn't investing his attention in her, whether he was playing with her or beating her up. “Useless twat.” She retorted to the silent clown; a wide red grin painted across his face and smudges of white and black over his face. He was built like a bull and undoubtedly an escaped con that had not been with a woman in a long while; and she supposed that she shouldn't speak to him like that.

“Just shut yer trap and sit still.” The clown snapped back at her as she shrunk and pushed her bottom lip into a pretty, black pout. She moved away from him, towards a leaner clown with a more stylized and neat sort of makeup. A rounded smile painted up and around the corner of his lips and black crosses painted over his eyes, though he was frowning and staring at her, deadpan.

None of his henchmen spoke with her, though she supposed that was the psychology of it all, and she recalled her time in Arkham. When it was her sitting behind the notepad, not in front of it; those silly big glasses on over that eye patch and crisp business attire. Her cousin, Nina, had always laughed at the way she dressed up so pretty for “the crazies”, but she had been the most requested and everyone's favourite psychiatrist.

***

_The Long Pas_ _sed._

The pretty pale yellow of her cashmere dress shined through the long white corridors of the asylum, catching the eyes of patients and doctors alike as she walked along in grey flats with little bows on the toe and a light grey cardigan. She rolled up the bottom of the sleeves at the wrist and matched her eye patch with her dress, a pretty yellow patch shaped like a heart. Her hair was pinned back in a drooping bun, after she had straightened out her hair, her fringe brushed off to the side and the knot tied with a navy hair tie. The other doctors and nurses thought she was ditzy little girl who had no place in the asylum and whispered about her “conduct”, though she had done nothing. And they were never too disappointed when she gave them a pretty smirk or wore a white shirt with a black brassier. 

They thought she didn't even have a degree.

Though she had her own office with a leather cline, a sleek oak desk and several filing cabinets. She sat in a fake leather computer chair that swirled, with a notepad leaning against her knee as she wrote and jotted down notes. Whilst the Dollmaker rattled off vicious ramblings about the way he wondered what  _her_ legs would taste like and how much he wanted to touch her face, but she had restrained herself from glancing at the armed guard who stood in the corner of the office. His hands interlaced behind his back and his chin tilted upwards in his duty; dressed in SWAT attire with a baton and handgun on either side of his hip. The neck wrap dipped low to reveal a stray sharp corner of a swastika that peeked through and it made her recall when he first handed in his resume. “ _Sir, I know my physical appearance may be unsettling, though I assure you that my attachments to the Brotherhood have been severed and I am seeking someone to remove my tattoos, though the process has not been successful thus far_.” He had told the head of the guards, who scowled at the young man before agreeing to have him on the force. As some jackass named “The Joker” had initiated a jailbreak in the western wing and taken down over twenty guards with stolen scalpels and apparently the grinning bastard used a potted plant. 

Harley was the only one who ever spoke to _Garvan_ , even though her father had never shut up about how his grandmother barely survived the Holocaust, but he wasn't even a “practising Jew” as he had forced his daughter to be for most of her life. 

The former Nazi was older than her, in his early thirties or so, though curt and more inclined to silence, but he would smirk at her whenever his helmet off or dark tinted visor was up. “Lie down.” He said in a stern tone as the Dollmaker moved to his feet, trying to cross the room and touch Harley as she sank into her chair more. “ _Now_ .” He said and the criminal scowled behind his make shift paper mask, painted like a child had done it in scribblings and red. His pink tongue swirled around outside of the little strip he had cut for his mouth and she winced, trying to maintain her composure though she had always been afraid of the Dollmaker. 

She had heard the first thing he did when he broke out of his cell, was tear off one of the guards face and wore it as his own, before he set off to kill this Joker character. 

“Now, what was that last part, Mister Dollmaker?” Harley asked him, making her voice straight as though her words were on paper and she was forcing them aright on a table in front of her. 

“You look like you have soft skin.” He whispered and she jotted down the comment. “I'd like to touch it.” 

“I would have to decline such a request, Mister Dollmaker,” Her tone was not a plastered on New Jersey accent but a soothing, elegant voice that could lull any man to sleep or seduction. She glanced at the clock with one eye and nodded her head, gently. “It seems as though our session is coming an end, Mister Dollmaker, may I speak with you again tomorrow?” 

“... So round. Flawless skin stretched over a symmetrical skull and sweet features, like the perfect doll.” He hummed and she grimaced, as Garvan moved forward and he pulled the restrained man to his feet. Though once his feet were braced on the carpeted floor he lunged at her, launching across the room with his bound hands reaching for her as she stayed pinned to her seat, but Garvan caught him and threw him, hard, into the wall. 

“Are you alright, Miss?” Garvan asked her, pinning the man by his shoulders and pressing his chest hard into the wall until he could barely breath into his paper mask that had been knocked askew in the struggle. 

Harley nodded her head and Garvan rang the bell to march the Dollmaker back to his cell. “Don't bring the next patient in until I get back.” He told the guards stationed at the door and moved with two armoured men back to the glass cell holds as the next prisoner leaned back in the dolly cart; strapped in a straight jacket with tough leather and bound to the cart with buckles and locks. 

She remembered how they directly ignored his words and brought the man in on the dolly, unlocking him from the cart and laying him upon the cline. “Watch out, Miss Quinzel, he's a crafty one.” One of the guards had said before leaving her all alone in the room with the criminal; his dark hair falling around his face effortlessly as though he had gotten out of bed and his face was almost charming with narrow eyes, playful in a way. Though there were jagged scars at the corners of his mouth, puckered and angry looking with the way his slithery tongue darted and fussed over them. 

His eyes glared at her as though she were a piece of meat, but she refused to falter and inclined her chin, gently. He looked young in a way, as his eyes flickered down to her yellow dress and pretty, youthful face, unblemished by the harshness of the real world. Though garnished with a frown. “You know,” He said, finally, after the short silence and he sat up on the edge of the cline, rather calm in his straight jacket. “A pretty girl like you was made to smile.” 

She could have sworn she had heard the line before, though her cheeks flushed all the same while her face stayed dead pan and she crossed her legs at the knee. 

“I've heard a lot of wonderful things about you, doc,” He smiled, pulling his scars tight in a way that seemed to hurt, though he bore no signs of it, and she tilted her head to the side in a pretty way. “Mostly from sex depraved psychopaths, but old Red Rash had some lovely things to say about you too.” 

“Her chosen name is Poison Ivy, sir.” She corrected him, as Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley was one of her more promising patients and almost felt like a friend to Harley. Harley didn't have many friends outside of Arkham. 

“You get the joke.” He smiled, wide like a Chessy cat and she quirked an eyebrow. “I like _you_. Even after picking up that pen and notebook _you still get the joke_.” He paused before scooting forward on the edge of the cline and cocking his head to the side. “You know, I even like that name you've got there. _Harleen Quinzel_ , don't your friends call you Harley?” 

“I don't have many friends.” Ivy did, she thought it suited Harley well. 

“If you play with it a bit, you get Harley Quinn!” He cheered, and she could feel he was getting excited and tilted her chair so she could rest her elbow on the desk; right above the emergency button. 

“Like the clown persona Harlequin, originating in Old French, Middle French, Middle English and Italian. Typically meaning _buffoon_?” He pushed his lips into a pout and she sighed. “I've heard it before.” 

He looked down at the ground and smirked at the bows on her shoes. “Well, it's the kind of name that puts a  _smile_ on my face.” He cocked his head to the side at her, as she watched him carefully and jotted down a note without looking; she had become rather good at that in her caution. “I wish it would put a smile on yours.” 

“I'd prefer to be serious about these matters, sir.” 

“Ivy says you have a wonderful smile.” He told her and she tried to recall when she had smiled at any of her patients. She shifted her crossed leg over once more, nervously, and found she had stopped writing. “How can I trust someone who doesn't smile at _my jokes?_ ” 

She let out a breath, trying not to sigh and gave him a pretty doe eyed look as she tilted her chin downwards. A smirk crept across her lips as his eyes widened and he leaned in closer as though something spectacular was about to happen on the big screen. Her teeth were pearly white and straight with a slight largeness in her buck teeth as her reddened lips turned into a crescent moon smile. It made her cheeks wonderfully round on her round face and her eye gleamed with an almost childish delight. “Can we get started now, Mister Joker?” She assumed and he smiled, wide and bright, his teeth had been fine with out that slop he covered them in for his costume. 

“We already did. A long time ago.” He had told her. 

***

Steam crawled up the side of the glass in her stand up shower as she lathered her hair with sweet smelling strawberry shampoo and a creamy conditioner; the mist turned to tears on the door. An old Nirvana song rang over her small yellow radio as it sat with her tooth brush and hairdryer on the sink vanity;  _Heart Shaped Box_ . She washed the foam out of her hair and scrubbed herself nice and pink, before stepping out of the shower and toweling off. She wiped the steam off the mirror with her hands and looked at her face, smirking, frowning and then smiling, crazy and wide. Then she drew a wide grin upon in the silky mist before giving up and going out into the living room, where her puppy snoozed at the bathroom door. His little black nose poking in the crack until she opened the door and he  _pitter_ _pattered_ along beside her, lapping up the water off of her legs. “Do you not have water?” She asked him, sweetly, and went into the small kitchen to pour some water into a little tin bowl for him. “There you go, dear.” She told him before going into her bedroom to change into her pyjamas; a pair of pink silk shorts and a matching tank top with white lace along the neckline. Her slippers rung off the hallway rug as the little Jack Russell scarfed down all the kibble in his bowl and then she settled down in the fluffy arm chair. 

“Pepper,” She laughed as he leaped onto her lap and she turned on the television; before she noticed a clear glass vase on her small white coffee table. A bundle of flowers, a large pink and another white flower surrounded by purple flowers and a shiny red ribbon tied into a bow. “What the fuck?” She asked, leaning over to tentatively pick up the little white card balanced on the wide mouth of the vase. 

It read;  _see you soon, doc – Mister J_ . 

“How in the fuck?” She asked the room and the little dog's rat tail wiggled back and forth, patting on the cushion. She picked up the cord phone on the small round table and she picked it off of the hook, dialing the hospital's number. “Hello?... Yes, Miranda, this is Doctor Harleen Quinzel... Yes, I was calling to see if The Joker is still in his cell?.... He is?” Her small brow furrowed as she looked at the flowers and the little dog nosed at her breasts. “Oh nothing's the matter.... No, just a little startled.... No, I'm fine, _really_.” 

She had put some water into the vase afterward, setting the little card upon the kitchen table as she leaned back against the counter and took a sip of warm tea and cream. The toaster popped and almost scared her to death as the golden brown rye bread leaped onto the counter and she clutched her chest for a moment. “Fuck.” She cursed, shaking her head, before opening the drawer and pulling out a butter knife. 

A knock sounded at the door and she looked at the only door to her apartment at an angle from the kitchen, then went to her little dresser in her bedroom. She rifled around as the knocking started up again and she pulled out a snub nosed revolver, shining, with a brown handle. “Miss Quinzel, are you alright in there?” She heard Garvan ask from the other side of the door and tucked the gun away, before going to open it; a small crack with the chain still on. She saw his oblong face peek into the room, looming high above her and his dull green eyes looking down at her as she stood there. A swastika in blue on the corner of his eye, and she pursed her lips. “Miss Quinzel,” He nodded his head curtly and glanced over her head to the Jack Russell that was perched on back of the chesterfield staring back at him. 

“Garvan.” She said in a soft tone and he looked down at her once more to make her cheeks flush. “What's the matter?” 

“The secretary at the asylum said you called. Apparently you're scared to be alone in your house.” He said, blatantly, and Harley shook her head. 

“No, I,” She let out a small laugh and shook her head again. “I was just startled, or something, it's fine.” 

“Do you want me to come in and check?” He offered with a small smirk on his full lips, leaning against the doorway as he watched her and she giggled, gentle and pretty. 

“Could you?” 

“Yes, of course.” Garvan told her, moving into the apartment after she unhooked the chain and they walked through the flat; only to find nothing. Though his eyes had lingered over a little card on the counter and he had cast a glance over the fresh bundle of flowers on the table. “Well, I guess it was nothing.” He said, quietly, looking at the fluffy purple flowers and shoving his fists in his navy police jacket pockets. 

“Yeah,” She laughed, nervous and small. “That's kind of embarrassing.” 

“It's alright.” He smirked at her and she shook her head, flushed. 

“Thank you, Garvan.” She told him and he pursed his lips, before nodding his head curtly and leaving her all alone in her apartment. Pepper followed Harley to her bed, where she slipped beneath the massive yellow duvet she had ever since she was a teenager and they curled up together. 

Though she wasn't alone for long before there was another knock on the door. 

***

_Before._

The musky mold in the walls leeched into the bricks and tangoed with the dust around the room, lurching at them and sprinkling over their heart shaped bed. Sleek red sheets covered them as she laid in his arms, her small hand smoothing over his chest and massaging his skin. She stared at the spider web cracks in the ceiling above them as he sighed and then yawned; covering his mouth with his hand. Finally there were no white smudges on his fingers and the back of his hand, the makeup was gone, along with the greasy green hair dye, and even the yellow gunk he spread over his teeth, as she made him wash it out if he ever wanted to put his mouth on her. But the scars remained, jagged and crooked as Harley glanced at him for a moment before sighing and looking back at the ceiling. A black spider skittered over the crumbling roof, before lowering down to the headboard of their bed, and she turned over on her side. He hummed, before leaning over and nipping at her back; his fingers pinching at her pudgy side and he moved closer to her. Tying her up in his arms, face buried into her neck, and his hands pulling her closer to his chest; needy. She stared at the ground, sadly, her eyes soft and pretty, even without those fake blue contacts she put in all the time; in their place her pupils were encrusted with a steely blue-grey. “Mistah J?” Harley asked in her silly voice as he feathered kisses down her neck and nosed into her hair. “Could I go out for a while?” She asked him, though his teeth tugged at her earlobe and his hands became more urgent. “Please?” Harley asked in a small voice, before he pulled her closer to him on her back and climbed on top of her as she winced. 

He kissed her, urgently, and then nuzzled her throat with his nose for a moment. He pressed his member against her entrance as she simply stared up at the ceiling and wrapped her arms around his neck. He growled to prevent himself from whimpering at the sensation and he rammed his hips into her. Before he began to thrust into her rapidly as she dug her nails into his back and she grimaced; a furrowed brow and eyes squeezed shut at the age old sting. When he finished, spending inside of her and tensing, he moaned her name into the dingy pillow. 

Harley simply laid there, unmoving, and he huffed and panted, softly. He laid there, stretched over top of her and forcing her legs apart with his weight; waiting for himself to soften. He sighed and rolled off of her, his chest heaving and his eyes closed. “Can I go out now, Mistah J?”

He shook his head, gently massaging her back with rough callused fingers, and he told her. “No, stay here with me,” He commanded, though his tone was soft and barely firm with her. “And keep doing that thing you were doing with your hand, sweet... It makes me sleepy.”

“Okay,” She sighed, sadly, and rubbed soothing circles and swirls around his bare chest. “Whatever you say Mistah J.” He took her small hand in his and kissed her knuckles gently before he drifted off to sleep once more and she laid her head over his heart. 

She disentangled herself from him, only after she was sure he was asleep, and stole off into the main part of the old comedy venue, wearing only wearing his lavender coloured button up shirt and her black lace thong. Though the shirt was long enough to hide it, enough at least, but it wasn't hard for the lurking clowns to peek up her shirt when they wanted to. Two brown lumps of speckled fur lay curled up on the floor; rounded ears perked up and their heads raised as she past. “Hey Bud and Lou,” She smirked at them, their giggles rattling around the open back alley way, which had been blocked off from the public, and she kicked a long femur looking bone across the cement. “Hungry?” She asked them, scratching one of the happy hyena's heads and then rubbing his belly. “Yeah, me too.” 

She did not go back to his bedroom for some clothes, but poked around one of the boxes of her old things instead and pulled out a pair of old, torn up jean shorts. “Bud, where's my other fuckin' shoe?” She asked the hyena, as one of the clowns on the chesterfield shied away from the wild beasts. 

“Hey, they ain't supposed to be in here!” He snapped at her and Harley shot him a dirty look, before Lou handed her a small white sneaker. “Hey blondie, I'm talkin' you.” The clown snapped his fingers and Harley snapped hers at the hyenas; Bud hopped up on the man with his claws braced on the clown's broad shoulders and his teeth grazing the man's Adam's apple. 

“I'm not blonde.” She told him with her fists on her hips, as the hyena's spit bubbled and dripped down the man's shirt. Then her hand found her ponytail, groping the fake hair for a moment before giggling, embarrassed. “Oh!” Harley laughed, pulling off the wig even though she could have sworn she had already pulled it off and she didn't remember putting it back on, as _he_ never had her wear it to bed. “I _forgot_.” 

She even used that ditzy voice with his henchmen. 

Harley let out a soft whistle and hyena laid off, coming to her side as she pulled on her sneakers and then she moved to the back door. “Hey, where you goin'?” Snapped another creep, as she pulled on her bag and a hulking mass painted like a clown blocked her way. “Boss says you can't go nowhere on your own without askin' 'im.” The lean clown sat on a stool near the door with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a stubby glass of liquor in his hand. 

“Can't a girl get somethin' to eat in this city?” Harley asked, shifting her weight to one foot and sticking her rump out in a nice way. No one moved. “I'm going to the diner down the street, now move it or lose it, fella.” She threatened and the mass stared at her with blue hooded eyes before stepping out of the way and she pushed out the door. 

When she got back she shared her greasy French fries with her cackling pets and even bought them their own burgers without relish as they did not like pickles much. Then she slept for the rest of the night in their mangy bed mat, curled up in a little ball between them as Bud laid his head in the curve of her waist and she used Lou as warm pillow. The grease settled like an oil spill in her stomach as she let the cool Gotham breeze dance across her naked thighs and whisk away the dead leaves around her. Her skin was cold to the touch and her body began to feel numb as she laid there, but she didn't want to go back to bed. She patted her belly and laid out on her back for Bud to stretch out over her like a gangly, hunched blanket. 

“HARLEY!” 


	2. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closer and closer, the orange mouse runs down the over turned white clock.

_Before._

            She sighed as they marched her down the long white corridor, flickering florescent rods hummed over head and her small white hospital shoes scuffed over the floor as she dragged her feet; so tiny between them. Bruce felt as though he were hauling a child down to the principal’s office, his dark gloved hand hooked around her elbow as he ushered her down the hallway and she pushed her bottom lip into a pretty pout. Blake had been so confused when Batman rung him up to get the Joker's girlfriend, Bruce supposed he was imaging a skimpy clown with crooked makeup, ugly teeth and a Glasgow smile carved into her face. He probably had not expected such a doll like the former doctor, Harleen Quinzel; a bottle blonde with a cutesy face and a charming, _willing_ smile. Bruce almost laughed when Blake asked “are you sure you got the right one?”, though when she came at the cop with a knife he became rather certain.

“Home again, home again. Jiggity jig.” Harley sighed as she walked along, slowly, in her bright orange jumpsuit that was far too big for her and her blonde hair pulled to the side into two darling pig tails. The police had wiped off her makeup and apparently tried to strip her down, though she bit off one of the cops' ears, and settled on letting her change herself after a long dragged out frisk, that would have been short if she wasn't such a trouble maker.

Two-Face leaned against the glass wall that separated them, flipping his coin and flashing Harley a smile as she passed and she spared him a sad smirk. “Hey Harley, how's it been?” He asked her, as she stood between the two brooding masses and she shrugged her shoulders. The handcuffs clinking and rattling, as she pursed her lips and replied in that fake voice.

“It's been, Harvey.” She sighed and he cocked his head to the side at her, though Batman and _Third Rock from the Sun_ over there kept pushing her along.

Poison Ivy looked rather ravishing in her grey asylum uniform, clipped to her lean figure and endearing with her ginger coloured hair that fell to her breasts. “Hey kiddo,” She smirked at Harley as she passed by and the little munchkin returned the grin. “Haven't seen you in a while now.” _Golly_ , Harley thought as she admired the woman's smooth porcelain skin and heart shaped face, _she doesn't age_. The skin around and beneath her upturned eyes was unspoiled by the years, nor was her lovely orange hair, or even her plump, puckered lips.

“Puddin's been up to no good, what do you expect?” Harley shrugged her shoulders with a pretty sigh as they moved over the white tiles and passed medical carts.

“Bank job?” Ivy asked and Blake rolled his eyes as she followed them the length of her cell.

“Kinda.” Harley said and blew a big pink bubble with some sugary chewing gum. “We blew a hole in the side of that mob bank.” She confessed, before the redhead disappeared out of sight and they were moving closer to her old cell; untouched ever since she escaped.

She sighed as she looked at the Mr. Punch doll laying sprawled on her bed and the slight dip in her pillow from where her head had lain. Two bulky guards in their army attire waited beside the door of her cell and Batman urged her forward with a hand on her shoulder. She stood there for a moment before one of the guards grabbed her by the opposite shoulder and shoved her, harshly, to her knees.

“Hey,” Blake snapped at the man and the other man hooked his baton around her throat, then shoved her through the glass door. Tossing her to the tile floor and pinning her there with his knee in between her shoulder blades, her flawless cheek pushed deep into the rough floor and his friend began to tear off the massive orange t-shirt part of her uniform. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Blake snapped at them as Bruce glared at the motion, though did nothing as his relationship with authority was not exactly the greatest at the moment. “Hey....  _Hernandez_ , I'm talking too you.”

“Following standard operating procedure, now step back, sir.” One of the guards told him, pushing her skull into the floor and fisting a handful of her well-pinned wig while catching some of her real hair.

“You can't treat her like that, she didn't pose a threat-”

“Who gives a shit about this crazy bitch?” Sneered one of the guards as he tore away her orange trousers and tossed them into the pile of jagged and torn articles of clothing. She laid there on her belly in only her faded pink brassier and her darling hot pink tanga cut panties; the handcuffs were tightened around her wrists as they lifted her off the floor together -though they only needed the one of them for such a tiny girl- and heaved her onto the cot. The scratchy blanket scraped across her bare belly and Mr. Punch fell to the floor, face down as the guards laughed and kicked it aside.

Killer Croc leaned against the glass of his cell, on his tree trunk sized arms covered in sharp green scales and his massive claws pressed into the glass. His dagger-like teeth overlapped each other as he stared down his long lumpy snout and his nostrils flared as he sniffed at the air. He only wore a pair of baggy grey trousers that pulled tight around his bulky, muscular thighs and his clawed toes twitched.

The one guard shut and locked the door of her cell, adjusting his helmet as it had been knocked askew when he practically tackled Harley.

“You're just going to leave her like that?” Blake asked them and one man gave him a dirty look as the other guard punched in the secondary locking code.

“You got your orders, we got ours. Now, you lot can leave.”

She only changed her position after the men left, twisting and wiggling as her handcuffs clenched tight around her wrists. Harley huffed, as they had put her stupid bracelets too tight and she could not get at the right angle to dislocate her thumb or get the cuffs in front of her. A pink wad of gum laid on the floor from when she had accidentally spit it out and she turned over on her side with a pout.

“You havin' a bad time there, Quinzel?” Killer Croc asked from across the way, his voice muffled by the two thick pieces of glass between them and his pink tongue flickered over his scaly lips.

“Yep,” Harley sighed, shifting constantly in her discomfort, though she would have a long night because they never returned to fix her cuffs until the morning, usually. A welcome home sort of thing.

“You want me to sneak you somethin' to eat tonight, Doc?” The Croc asked her, sitting down with his long tail to the side in the corner of his cell; close to the glass so he could still speak with her. “They're serving rye bread with butter, blood sausage, mashed potatoes and a little oatmeal cookie 'cause it's a Friday.”

“No thank you, Waylon. I'm fine.” She gave him a sad smile and he nodded his crocodile head.

“Not even the cookie?”

“No,” She laughed, softly. “You can take it, if you want.”

“Thanks, doc.”

***

_The Long Passed._

They did not give her anything as she screamed and cried, grabbing at the leather cuffs as they tore into her with those vicious tools and crystal tears poured down her cheeks. She could see a rack of sedatives to her right whenever she looked, she asked them to help her with the drugs, but they ignored her.

“Oh, someone help me.” She cried,  clutching a fistful of the chain connected to the cuff and sobbed. “Someone please help me.”

She could feel the scalpel tearing into her belly, stabbing and ripping her belly into ribbons as she screamed and cried. “Johnny!” She called, though he was not there, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Okay,” The surgeon with the hungry scalpel said, turning away and leaving to the one metal table out of  her view. “.... cut it... give them to me quickly.” He said, sharply as she cried and begged.

“Help me,” She sobbed at the bright, gleaming light over her face and it stung her eyes. “Help me, God help me.”

***

_Before._

            A numbness moved down her shoulders to her arms as she laid there shivering and chewing her lip, viciously, whilst the inmates returned to their cells from the dining hall. Until the inmates began to scream and shout and run for their cells at a full sprint, like Harvey, as a monstrous roar tore down the corridor. She heard a man screaming at the top of his lungs as she moved back on her bed to the metal headboard and tucked her legs beneath the scratchy blanket; trying to wiggle it up to her body and cover herself. Seven heavily armoured men with batons ran down the corridor towards the mess hall as the sirens began to ring and a neon red light blinked above the doors of all the cells. An iron barred gate slid down to the tile floor with a loud clang and locked into the tiles; in front of the glass. All of the clangs rang down the hallway on every cell and Harley pulled her knees to her chest.

“Waylon,” She whispered when she remembered the roar and wiggled along the bed before falling to the floor at an awkward angle. “Ow, fuck!” She cursed and rolled around on the cold floor, as though she had slipped on an icy river.

She heard the distinctive smacking of the Croc's jaws and watched the glass of her wall, as a lumpy snout appeared into view and he peered into her room with shrewd eyes. His nostrils twitched as he moved to the bars and clamped his massive claws around two of the bars before tearing them off; the metal rattled off the brick walls when he threw them behind him. A gun belt hung from his elbow as he picked up a set of keys with his hooked claws and fumbled to unlock the door. His trousers were stained with a black looking substance that went all the way up to his elbows and even his face was coated in it. He unlocked her door with the keys, ripping the code typing device right out and slipping inside.

He wiggled awkwardly with his hulking size and his broad shoulders hunching to get through. Though he made it and stood in her room with his neck tilted to the side and he reached for her, unlocked her handcuffs and tossed them out the tear in the bars.

“Thank you, Waylon.” Harley told him as he sat down on the floor and yawned. She rubbed her raw and chaffed wrists, before watching the Croc gobble down a chocolate chip and oatmeal cookie along with the plastic wrapping on it. 

He belched, loudly, and licked the crumbs off of his scaly lips. “Sorry, doc. Excuse me.” He told her and she smiled, shaking her head.

“It's alright.”

“I haven't heard you use that voice in a while.” He told her and she laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “Still look funny with that blonde hair, too.”

“Yeah, it's weird.” Her hand reached up to touch the wig, _itchy more like_ , and then she sighed.

“Pretty though, but brown suits you either way.” He said, as the sirens raged on and the blood dried on him. The red light set an eerie glow over the room as she sat there, cross-legged in her undergarments and played with her ponytail. “Last time I saw you, doc, you had a black eye.” She kept her mouth shut and he asked, nodding his head yonder. “ _He_ give ya that?”

“... I think he went this way!” They heard from the corridor; combat boots echoing over the tile and getting closer and closer by the minute.

“I guess I should go.” The Croc said and leaned over Harley to get a kiss on his scaly cheek, before he slipped out of the cell and moved down the hallway.

            That Croc put up a hell of a fight from what Harley heard as she played with her food at one of the long, lonely tables in the dining hall and twisted her spoon in the oatmeal set before her. Harvey had wandered over to tell her how it all started: some guard named Hernandez got caught with Croc's claw and he tore the man apart as everyone started to leave the dining hall. Ivy said he had taken out roughly fifteen guards before they took him down and a feeble looking Mister Freeze came over to ask her how she was. His skin was a  pale grey and he carried a rolling oxygen tank along with him, occasionally sucking on the rubber mask between words and at times his head would lull. He had told her that Croc had been moved into solitary confinement and that she would probably be moving to a cell in block C, which was Joker's old block.

“C for clown.” She said, softly, as Freeze got to his feet, gave her a small wave, and stumbled off to another table.

“Hello there,” A familiar voice sounded from the other end of the table and she crossed her legs at the knees, smirking at her tray. “Haven't seen you in a while.”

“Lately, I've been hard to reach.” She told him, stirring her oatmeal back and forth in the plastic indent.

“Very hard.” He told her and she wiggled her nose at him, uncrossing her legs and then doing the same with the other leg.

“Johnny,” She sighed and she looked up at those cold, blue eyes.

“I've tried.”

***

_The Long Passed._

            He cleared his throat as she twisted and fidgeted with her necklace; an anchor charm upon a thin silver chain. She was chewing her bottom lip as the blood rushed to redden it, her nose twitched at the man at the desk and her pencil tapped upon the paper set in front of her, before she wrote down the answer. He had been so surprised that she made it to _his_ class, though in her white trash ambition and skimpy attire she had sauntered her way up to one of the hardest courses of the entire university. She must have slept with a few of her professors to make it here, but still she sat there in a pair of red short shorts and a white halter top. _And she wants to work at Arkham_ , he scoffed and leaned back in his stiff wooden chair with a scowl and tilted his chin upwards. _Jail bait._ He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose while slyly glancing at her wonderful cleavage.

He sighed, feeling rather foolish and primitive as he crossed his legs at the ankles. Though she was such a pretty thing, straight from a magazine -whether the women were wearing clothes or not in it was debatable, with her curvy figure- or straight from the hallways off his high school; just like her pretty giggle.

She paused for a moment before looking over her test, flipping through the pages and then writing something on it. He supposed she was correcting her answers and noticed that she was the first one done, moving towards his desk and starting a pile in the corner. “Mister Crane.” She nodded, curtly, before going to her desk to retrieve her belongings and then left out the door.

He watched her hips sway, the red fabric of her jean shorts held her round rump perfectly and her skin looked so unblemished and childish, as though she were still only a child.

***

She smoked outside the doors as the wind pulled at her garden green trench coat and the flowing short skirt of her grey dress. A cigarette hung from between her lips as she took a long drag and chewed her lip, tapping her sneaker upon the musky cement. The clouds wept upon the hill, making the twisting and turning roads slick and almost dangerous as they looped and bended. Leading all the way up to where the darkest and _craziest_ minds rested behind sleek walls of glass and long, white corridors. _Arkham,_ she thought and winced.

Harley passed his course with flying colours, even though she had five questions wrong on her last test of the semester and somehow she got one hundred per cent on it.

And there was an opening on the Arkham staff.

***

            He laughed, nipping at her knees whilst she played with his dark waves and pulled him up by the collar to suck on his full bottom lip. His long slender fingers slipped into the thin sides of her thong, slowly trying to push the panties down around her ankles as she nipped and sucked on his lip. He moaned, pulling her hips closer into his as he swallowed her breath and held her so close that she could barely get any air. “Wait,” She pulled away, out of breath and panting, softly. “What was it you were saying about your father?” Harley asked and he shook his head, because he did not want to talk about it and tasted blood on his tongue. He leaned forward and kissed her again as that metallic twang mingled with their dancing tongues. She pulled away again and looked at him with that cute doe eye. “The corner of your lip is bleeding.”

A click sounded over the intercom and they heard. “... This is a message for all psychiatric staff, doctors and nurses, please get to a secure location and lock yourselves in. A patient in ward C has escaped and is considered armed and highly dangerous."

Harley listened carefully before snickering as he looked down at her and grinned. “What?”

“Nothing, I'm just _so_ scared.” She said in a mocking tone and kissed him again as she shifted beneath him on the dentist like chair. He leaned in between her legs as he sucked a neat blossom tucked beneath her grey cardigan and he slid his hands up her dress. She gasped.  “Wait,” She told him as he hooked his thumbs in her thong string and she bit his lip. “Wait, I said.”

“What?” He pouted, nosing down her tummy and shoving her skirt up until it was bunched around her hips. He kissed the pale exposed flesh of her tummy, pinching skin between his teeth and he bit the top of her panties. Shaking his head from side to side, slowly, like a savage dog, and his fingertips grazed up her inner thigh.

Her breathing hitched and she squeezed her eyes shut at the sensation. “Lock the door.”

“Okay.” He chuckled, low in his throat, and went to the door to twist the lock.

She shrugged off her cardigan and his tongue darted out over his lips, as he looked at her unzipping the side of her dress. Harley pulled the dress over her head and set it on the medical table as he scooped her up in his arms. “Eek!” She yelped as his arms wrapped around her waist and he picked her up, effortlessly.

She laughed.

***

 

            The wind rattled the windows of the small townhouse, shaking the petals out of the flowers and the chain on her door clinked and clanged on the door frame. Rain swept down the clear glass window as she sat at the small dining "room" and took a sip of her tea and cream. She pulled her loose grey sweater tighter around her as her chest heaved and her eyes stared out the window. Harley sat at the open window with a cigarette hanging from between her pretty pink lips, the wispy white smoke slipped through the screen like murky water through a gold miner's pan and she leaned her head back into the wall. Her arms crossed over her chest as she watched a pigeon take flight from the sharp steel railing of her neighbour's balcony and she slumped low. Harley closed her eyes, listening to the car whizzing past on the street, the stillness of morning and her quiet, soothing breath.

There was a gentle pounding on the walls, a warmth that moved through intricate pipes like veins, as though the house itself were alive. The long painted rafters in the ceiling looked like the neat rib cage of a decaying beached whale, as the skin of the walls was white with little red flowers like droplets of blood and then there were the plain photographs in black and white with dark brown frames.

She winced.

Then sighed, moving to the kitchen island to dump out the blackened bottom of her mug and rinse the kettle before setting it on the stove once more. A dying black moth flapped around and hopped along on the stainless steel bottom of the sink, as the sputter of water trickled over its jagged wings. It scaled up the side of the sink before climbing over the lip and crawled across the marble tile. Harley took a tall empty glass and clamped it down over the insect before bending over to observe the moth.

“Huh.” She hummed as it took flight beneath the glass dome, only to thud against the bottom of the cup and fall down again.

It was like being free only to bump into an invisible cage, _I know the feeling_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is kind of terrible like the last one.


	3. In Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black and Blue or Have We Met Before?

            She bit down so hard that she thought her teeth would shatter and splinter into her sweet, pink lip. His nails raked across her pale flesh in jagged, red lines and his teeth bit down on her neck, like lions breeding. She squeezed her eyes shut, so she would not have to look at him as he snapped his hips into her viciously and growled her name. His clear slobber shined on her porcelain skin as he tore into her shoulders and he shoved her down into the dark desk, _hard_. His thick fingers tugged and pulled at her faded pink brassier, trying to tear it away from her as she prayed it held up. It was her only brassier in the entire damn facility. Though when she pursed her lips, he attacked her mouth with his own and tore at her lips with his teeth. He swallowed her breath as she groped at the papers on his desk and stared at the flickering bright light above them. He pinned her down flat on her back as his hips worked into her _painfully_ stretched apart legs and the teeth of his zipper chewed up her inner thigh. _Any time now_ , she thought as he pulled her hair sharply to the side to bare her neck to him and he sucked small blotches of pink into her soft skin. _You can come at any time, Mister J_. He chewed up her collarbone as it would be hidden away beneath her clothes and his wicked hand pinned her back to the desk by her throat. “Harley,” He hissed, hotly, with his mouth pressed close to her ear as he worked into her and then tore into her throat with his teeth like a depraved man.

A stern, though uniform knocking sounded on the middle of the door and he stopped; frozen. “Doctor Burton?” A man’s voice asked from the other side, as he moved off of her and leaned down to pull his dress pants and briefs. “The time is past noon, are you alright in there?” The guard asked, precautious, and Harley sat up, covering herself with her hands as the doctor knelt down between her legs.

“Yes, I’m alright.” He told the man, leaning in close to place a kiss on her inner thigh and nose at her through her panties. “We’re just wrapping up.” The doctor said, before straightening himself and tucking his dress shirt into his pants. He picked his retro spectacles off of the desk beside her and set them on his ears, before grinning. His hazel eyes were glazed over as his eyes flickered over her nakedness and he groped her plump breast. “I missed you, Harley.” He said in that soft mellow voice, baritone and almost husky in his lust. His bow shaped lips pulled taut when she simply stared at her pale knees, helpless, and he leaned close to take in a breath of her sweet scent. His nose bumping into her scalp as he smelled her curls and he tilted her face up to him with an index finger hooked beneath her chin. “I look forward to our next session.”  

 _Go fuck yourself_ , she wanted to snarl at him, though she simply glared at the way his member strained against the soft fabric of his dress pants and he brushed his knuckles over each of her cheeks, gently. She pursed her lips as he pecked her on the brow, before rubbing her thigh gently and leaned down to pick up her uniform off of the floor. She reached for the grey clothing, though he pulled it away from her with a smirk and she knew he was teasing. “How about a kiss first?” He asked as she clenched her jaw and he leaned down to press his mouth against her own. She grasped the waist of the dress as he sucked on her lips and let his fingertips glance up her inner thigh, closer and closer to her sex before he pulled away and laid the simply dress over her lap. She pulled it on, hurriedly, and buttoned it up as she moved to stand beside the door. He sighed, before twisting the lock and pulling open door for her; she ducked underneath his arm as she moved past and out into the long white corridor. “Same time tomorrow, Miss Quinzel.” He offered, though it wasn’t a question as the guard pressed his hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her down the hall.

“Didn’t you used to be blonde yesterday?” The guard asked her as his combat boots rung off of the tile and she sighed, casting her gaze down.

“Yeah.” She said, neglecting the ditzy voice as they turned around the bend and stepped into the elevator to go down to cell block C.

“They let you have a curlin’ iron?” He asked, playing with her slightly mangled mane of doll curls and coils that spilled over her shoulders. His gloved fists nudged them off of her shoulder as he let the stiff padding over his fingertips run down her spine as she cringed and shifted away from him.

“No, they’re naturally like that.” She told him, staring into the rusted black gate pulled over the front of the elevator and the ancient ivory coloured buttons above a keyhole circled with blue.

The guard scoffed. “That’s what they all say.”

***

 _After_.

                His massive head hung over the side on the couch, dripping drool from his jaws onto the hardwood floor and his big claws hanging over the side. His broad black nose twitched and shuttered as he snorted and snored, loudly. Harley laid behind him with her arm thrown over his rusty shoulders, her nose tucked into his fluffy fur and his coiled bushy tail lying over her knees. She groaned, softly, as the slender little dog climbed over her side and laid on top of her head; hugging her with his skinny legs. Mickey, the German Shepard, poked at the massive dog lying in front of her, nipping and prodding before the other dog got sick of it and slunk off of the couch. He growled at Mickey, before the German Shepard climbed onto the couch and tucked his scarred nose underneath her arm. He wiggled up until Harley was hugging him the way he liked and the hulking Rottweiler, Django, climbed over the arm rest at her feet. The rust coloured Akita curled up into a ball on the fluffy arm chair and laid his head on the armrest, watching the array on the couch; his name was Ted. The grey and white corgi whined at the back door, scrapping at the very bottom with his stubby paw before she disentangled herself from the dogs and picked the Whippet off of her head. She walked across the tile in bare feet and pulled her loose fitting nightshirt down over her panties, as to not give her neighbours a show and stepped out onto the deck as the corgi went off to pee in her flower bed.

                The soil stood desolate behind a short white fence, stirred up and scraped at with a few old bulbs sticking out and dried twigs that were thrust up out of the ground like spikes. The corgi lifted his leg to one of the fence posts and then kicked dirt at it, as though to cover his scent before he hopped over the fence and raced back to her over the nice patches of grass and worn down dirt. He bobbed up the wooden steps before he hopped up on her, stretching his low set body and nosing into the hem of her shirt. “Come on, Luke.” She told him, patting her thigh and went to the foot of the steps after whistling for the six dogs, letting them bustle past her up the narrow stair case and then followed them. She opened her bedroom door for them and she hopped into the queen sized bed quickly as to not lose her spot and tucked her legs beneath the thick duvet. Though Django hopped on the middle of the bed before she could get her feet down as he laid, heavily, over the blanket and she tried to wiggle her little feet beneath him. “Django,” She groaned before she shimmied her feet beneath his rib cage and he got up to lay over her legs. The corgi ran up the plastic steps she had gotten for him and wiggled up closer against her side, as Ted laid across the second pillow in her bed and laid his head above her own. The Whippet, Oliver, climbed over her head and sighed. Mickey growled at the Rottweiler as he climbed into the bed and laid over her torso like a child; burying his sharp nose into the curve of her neck. The old greyhound, Skeletor, hopped onto the bed and laid out on his belly, before he crawled up the side and laid on the other side of her. He pulled his long legs in tight, before pressing his pointed black nose into her cheek. “Can I help you?” She giggled at the dampness as a narrow, little paw settled on her round cheek and Oliver laid his head over her nose.

She sighed.

***

                Harley woke up early, disentangling herself from the animals and stepping onto the cool hardwood floor. She fixed the twisted side of her panties before fishing around in her top drawer for a pair of pyjama pants and settled upon a pink pair with white polka dots. She stretched before stepping out into the hall, pulling on a grey sweater as she descended the steep staircase with Mickey in tow; his head hung down near the stairs. He laid over her feet as she worked in the kitchen, putting strips of bacon on a tray and then taking her feet out from under his ribs and going to the oven. She laid two strips in each of the dog’s bowls before washing her hands and cracking three eggs into a glass measuring cup with a butter knife. Then she went to the fridge for the carton of milk, only when she pulled it off of the shelf she caught a whiff of the sourness and gagged. “Ugh,” She groaned and dumped it out into the sink before sighing and turning the tap on to wash it down. “I’m going to have to get more.” She sighed, leaning into the cupboard and Mickey cocked his head to the side at her. “Do you want to go for a walk?” She asked him, and his tail twitched before she patted her thigh and then went to the front door. Harley stopped by the blue plastic laundry basket on the chesterfield and fished around until her hand caught the waistband of some old yoga pants and she wiggled out of her pyjamas. Mickey sat by the door, poking his head around the corner and never letting her out of his sight as she pulled the yoga pants over her rump. “You don’t need a leash, do you?” She asked as she rummaged in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out her chunky pleather wallet.

He yawned at her as she tucked it into her pocket and opened the door for him. They stepped out onto the cement porch after she locked the door, heavily behind her, and walked to the front gate. It was tall with thick black bars and a thick lock at the front gate that only she and the two other residents had a key to. She took the key out on her long chain before unlocking it, then stepping out with Mickey close behind her and they walked all the way down to the corner store. “Stay here, boy.” She patted him on the head and he sat down by the glass door with his neck craned to look through the window. His amber eyes followed her as she went through the store, taking a two litre from the refrigerator before she paused and took another. Setting them side by side in the basket, before going to one of the candy aisles and picking out a box of _Chips Ahoy_ and those cracker sandwiches with the cheese whiz in the middle. She stopped by the pastry case and chose a few glazed doughnuts and then went to go pay.

Only she froze, staring at the man purchasing a deli sandwich from the fresh aisle and a bottle of orange juice. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter as the cashier went to go get some more plastic bags and she turned away from him, slouching. He casually glanced at her without a second thought before he did a double take and admired her wide round rump. He thought about her nice legs and glanced down at her Van sneakers before pursing his lips and looking back to the counter. “Here you are,” The cashier returned with a bag for him and asked. “Anything else?” Mickey leaned into the window, aggressively, growling low in his throat as he watched the man standing close his owner and he barked, softly.

“No, thank you.” Officer Blake told him, she had not recognized him when she first walked in, but even in his civilian clothes he looked the same. The cashier set the items into the bottom of the bag as she stood there with her back to the officer, and he took the bag.

“Have a nice day.” The small man behind the counter told him, nodding his head and waved after the officer.

“Yeah, you too.” He said, before walking out of the store and Harley set the basket down in front of the man. He pulled out the things and scanned them, before setting them into doubled plastic bags. Blake stopped outside as he fired up a cigarette that hung from his lips and crammed the pack of cigarettes back into his jacket. “Hey fella,” He smiled at the dog as it glared at him and Mickey snapped at him, though Blake had not reached out to pet him. “Or not.” He sighed, as Harley took her bags and paused to ask the cashier about some bullshit advertisement hanging in the window.

The man summed it up pretty quickly, as the officer stepped off of the curb and walked slowly through the parking lot as the street lamps of Gotham began to shut out. She paused at the window, pretending to adjust the bags on her arm before she pushed open the door and patted her thigh for the hound to follow; _close_.

                She followed him a little ways across the street and walked slowly behind him as he walked down a back lane and moved towards an old apartment building. He paused by the front door after getting out his keys and opening the door for an old woman; Harley rolled her eyes as he held it open for her. She turned down a narrow path through the dead gardens of another apartment complex as he looked at her and watched as Mickey’s tail disappeared behind a big blue dumpster.

                Her feet were aching by the time she got home, though it had not been a far or long walk, and the bacon was burnt rather crisp. She set the bags out on the kitchen island and mixed the new milk with the cracked eggs. Mickey resumed laying over her feet as she stirred the mixture with a large fork and then dumped it into a pan. She filled the mixing cup with water before letting it soak into the glass and sat it in the sink. She went to the door while the eggs cooked on the stove and kicked off her shoes as the little Whippet hopped down the stairs and followed her back to the kitchen. She stopped in the hall to she turn up the heat and watched the Whippet daintily eat the kibble and strips of bacon in his bowl. Mickey did not touch his food as he followed her up the stairs and down the short hallway to the last room. He sat back on his haunches as she looked into the small room and looked at the pile of dogs sleeping on the small bed. She sighed, before leaving the door slightly ajar and went back down stairs.

                The thick layer of orange eggs and milk bubbled on the surface of the hot pan and the scent of melting butter and bacon filled the air as she set them out on a plate. She put the plate and utensils on the table after buttering the toast and pushed a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. She washed her hands before making a sandwich for lunch with that veggie bread and set the two pieces out on a plastic cutting board. She tucked her toes underneath Mickey, as she knew that he would simply follow her around until he was able to lay at her feet once more. She laid two pieces of lettuce over the mayonnaise and mustard covered bread and then put two slices of tomato over them and two pieces of black forest ham. She squeezed the two halves together, before cutting them diagonally in a line and then wrapping them up with plastic wrap.

A knock sounded from the door and she sighed.

***

 _The Long Passed_.

                It was well past nine o’clock and dark outside already as she sat at her desk and wrote, filing away official papers and hooking a paper clip at the top of the beige folders to keep them closed. The end of her blue pen dipped and swayed as she drew the curves of her letters and straight lines; sometimes she had to check off boxes or fill them in. Her legs were crossed at the ankle as she sat high in her computer chair and she scribbled her signature onto a dotted line. The plastic phone buzzed on her desk, up against the wall and she took it off of the hook, pressing it against her ear. “Hello?” She asked, tilted her head against her shoulder to keep the cord phone in place as she wrote a description of a certain patient she had earlier and a baritone voice sounded from the other end. “Oh, hello Doctor Burton.” She bit her lip and stopped her writing, tapping the ballpoint against the paper. “…. Yes… Yes, I’ll bring them down right away… Of course, alright… Bye.” She giggled nervously and set the phone on the hook once more before glancing over her shoulder. “Garvan, you can go home. I won’t be here long.” She told the silent guard as he stood, rigid, against the wall and interlaced his fingers behind his back.

“It’s alright. I can stay a little longer.” Garvan told her, staring straight ahead with dark eyes and his lips pulled into a taut line behind his mask.

“Won’t your girlfriend be worried that you’re not home on time?” Harley smirked at him and he grimaced behind his mask, shuffling on his feet before resuming his stern stance.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He told her and he noticed the way a flush crept into her pretty round cheeks.

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s alright, Miss.”

She set two massive folders over one another and tucked them underneath her arm before getting out of her seat and straightening her cute grey pencil skirt; it made her look slimmer. “I have to go down to Doctor Burton’s office.” She told him and unrolled the silken sleeves of her blouse before buttoning the cuffs over her wrists. The sleek fabric caught the light and presented her curves wonderfully as she shifted her weight to one foot and she carried the folders to the door. He followed her through the door, towering over her four foot nine frame though her heels added an extra inch as they walked abreast down the white corridor.

                They ascended the elevator and got off on the third floor of Arkham and she began to feel fluttery. She chewed her lip as they walked down the corridor, past cells of pacing and sleeping criminals; one man even flung himself against the bullet proof glass at her. He screamed something about her face as they walked down the hall and turned into cell block C. The clean clown sat in his cell on the center of his cot and then got to his feet, before going to the corner of the glass. “Miss Harley Quinn,” He cheered, leaning into the glass by his shoulder and he followed them as they walked the length of the cell. “Where have you been?” He asked and she took pause, before stopping to stand with him. Once he said: “They’ve been shacking me up with some big eyebrowed loon.”

“Yes, you’ll be taking sessions with Doctor Burton from now on.” She told him and he pursed his lips.

“Well,” He shook his head and licked at his scars. “I… I don’t like that.” He told her, nonchalantly, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and shaking his head. His shoulders peaked up high in his slouched posture and he looked much like he was in a strait jacket. “I want to be your patient.” He told her and she shook her head, timidly, and he moved along as she began to walk again. “You put a smile on my face,” He grinned at her with white teeth, though she had heard his teeth were yellow, though at the moment they were bright white like they had been bleached. “I don’t want just any fella with a degree, I want the prettiest gal in the joint.” He followed her and she shook her head.

“The warden made the decision to put you in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing.” She told him and he pushed his lips into a pout.

“I think you know what you’re doing.” He told her and she shook her head once more.

“Goodbye,” She said his name and his head perked up, before she was gone from his sight and he moved back in his cell to slump against the cot. He sighed, though watched, keenly, as a male nurse passed by to check on the patients. “Hmm.” He hummed as he watched them pass and Harley knocked gently on the doctor’s door.

“Come in.” She heard his distinctive mellow tone sound from other side of the door and she twisted the handle. Garvan followed close behind her and stood as she shrank before the massive desk and Doctor Burton looked over his papers at her. His oblong face set blank as he looked up at her, charming and sophisticated. His dark hair combed into a neat cowlick and his spectacles sat low on his nose as he read and his dark tie was loosened around his throat. “Do you have the folders, Miss Quinzel?” Her cheeks flushed and she nodded her head before setting them down on the desk for him. “Thank you.”

She nodded her head curtly and moved towards the door once more.

“Actually, Miss Quinzel.” He stopped her, looking down into the folders and pursing his bow shaped lips. “Do these include your personal notes?” His eyes were a dark brown and seemed to bear down upon her as she stood there; though they softened when he smirked at her.

“Yes.” She nodded her head and held her hands behind her back as he nodded his head in turn.

“Well, thank you, Miss Quinzel.” He dismissed her with a handsome smile and she spared him a polite smirk leaving down the corridor with Garvan.

“Ugh,” She muttered as they moved passed a cell, in which a patient was masturbating in front of the glass and watching her. She winced and looked away from him, moving away quickly before a massive prisoner threw himself in the glass of his cell.

 His massive mitts splayed on the clear surface of the wall and he crushed his face into the glass. His lips peeled back to reveal his jagged teeth and he grinned at her; the whites of his eyes bared and foam collecting in the corners of his mouth like a rabid dog. “Baby, why don’t you walk your fine ass back over here? You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen since I got in this shit hole.” He snarled and Garvan put his hand between her shoulder blades to urge her on. “Come over here,” He called to her. “I’ll show you what it’s like to be with a real man.” She winced and looked at the corners of the glass trembling and shaking as he pounded upon it. “You think this glass can hold me, you little bitch!” He pounded upon it with his fists and he howled after her.

They passed by The Joker’s cell once more, as he sat in the center of his bed and he tilted his head to the side with a frown. A nurse wandered by to scribble on the chart he carried and quickly looked in on the clown before leaving a point form note for the next night nurse.

Though she stopped in her tracks before the open elevator gate and tried to crane her neck to look around the corner. His cackling echoed down the corridor as she stood there, frozen, and Garvan asked. “Is something the matter, Miss Quinzel?”

“Why is he laughing?” She asked and then looked at Garvan.

“I think it would be in your best interest to not find out.”

                His legs kicked around at the white wall as he held him still, with his hands wrapped around the nurse’s slender throat and he let out gruesome choking noises. His flesh was bright red like a beet, skin bulging beneath the pressure of the breathlessness and the Joker cooed him into a permanent sleep; though he did not look at his red face. “Shhh,” He shook his head at the nurse and forced his grip a little tighter. “You have to be quiet.” He told him as he thrashed about and then went limp, as Joker pushed himself to stand. “Or you’re gonna wake mummy.” He giggled and smirked, before frowning at the young man and pursing his lips. He took the keys off of the man’s belt and swung them around his fingers as he walked down the hallway. “ _I’m singing in the rain_ ,” He sang as he skipped down the hallway, all the way to the fire alarm and he smashed the plastic case over it with his fist.

An angry bell rang loudly all throughout the corridor as he sighed and pulled the alarm down to open up all the glass cases, just so the criminals could get released. As God forbid the monsters burn like they should, he cheered and danced around in the chaos. The criminals burst out of their cells and ran through the hall as a voice rang out over the speakers, warning everyone to run and hide.

Harley leaned back against the wall and sighed, before the alarm rang and the red bulb in the center of the elevator ceiling lit the entire chamber with a scarlet glow. The elevator shifted into position on the second floor, only there was a clutch of armed criminals waiting for them and Harley touched Garvan’s arm.

He sprung over to the buttons, his keys still hanging in the keyhole and he punched the button for the next floor to the lower ranking criminals. The patients jumped at the gate as the elevator lurched downwards and tossed Harley into the corner as she braced herself on the walls.

The elevator stopped with a sudden jerk, as four long fingers caught the top it and its claws stabbed through the ceiling. Garvan caught her that time as she fell forwards and he pulled her into his chest with an arm around her shoulders. The elevator moved up instead of down, going towards the criminals once more as Garvan pushed Harley behind him, slowly, and she clutched his arm. A lumpy green snout poked into the narrow crack and a yellow eye stared into the elevator, gaping around until it settled upon Harley. The claws loosened along with the massive hand and Croc let the elevator fall once more. Only it fell partially into the basement, with only a small rectangle in the top to set them free and a man’s face appeared in the way. “Doctor Quinzel?” The man asked, she could see his name tag hanging low and the white of his orderly coat poking into view. “Oh thank God, come on.” He beckoned for her to come forward and she moved towards him. “We’ve got to get you to the main office, come on.” He offered his hand, except he let out a long scream, and grabbed at her wrist. His fingernails left red marks in her skin as someone tore him away from her, screaming bloody murder.

Garvan grabbed her and pulled her into him once more as they held up in the corner, he tucked her behind him as they stood together. Her small fingers slipping into the creases in his bulletproof vest and he pressed her up against the wall with his back. Another man popped into the rectangle; his face pinched like a bird and eyes beady and black. “We’ve got a live one!” He called over his shoulder when he spotted the darling pair of legs in black nylon stockings. “Ain’t you a pretty thin’?” He hummed in delight as she sank behind Garvan and buried her face into his back as he pulled out his baton.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step away from the gate and move on back to your cell,” Garvan told him as his grip tightened on the handle of his baton and the red gleamed off the black glass of his helmet. “And wait there until the lockdown is over.”

The man cocked his weasel head to the side and cackled. “FUCK YOU PIG!” He screamed into the crack and then moved away from it; swinging the gate open. “Big Boy, come get the bitch!” He called to someone beyond their sight line and Harley hugged Garvan around the waist. She squeezed her eyes shut as she hoped that her boy was alright and she hugged Garvan tighter.

The elevator shuttered as though someone leapt onto the top of it and it shook repeatedly as they were thrown around the room. A sudden jerk downward, the bottom tilting forward and sent Harley down into the get where she struck her head on the brick wall. She cried out as a strong arm reached down to catch her around the curls and pulled her upwards. She clawed at the man’s wrist as he brought her upwards to the narrow rectangle, she then grabbed at the ledge as he pulled her through and out into the light of the corridor. “Miss Quinzel!”  She heard Garvan call and he grabbed her around the hips, trying to pull her back in as all of her came out into the corridor.

The strong arms threw her up against the wall and pinned her there as she cried out. Her cheek was crush up against the hardness of the white painted bricks and she saw a man approaching from the corner of her eye. His face was burnt until the skin was raw and pink, creased with white spider web scars and his one eyebrow was slumped over by his crooked eyelid. He cackled like a _Looney Tunes_ character as he scuttled along the hallway and moved towards the elevator; he held a plastic bottle of something indefinitely flammable. “Garvan,” She whimpered as someone shoved their nose into her curls and pressed her into the wall. The strong arm hooked around her neck, pressing hard into her throat as she cried out and the man spurted the liquid all over Garvan’s uniform.

She heard the rattling of matches in a little cardboard box and cried out in terror, only to hear a loud thud from behind her. “Fuck, the bastard pulled Maxie into the elevator!” The weasel called out as the strong man pulled her along and tossed her up against the wall. She kicked at the man as he pulled her off of the ground and she wiggled in his arms. “He took the damned matches in with ‘im.” 

The big man behind her leaned down to lick a strip of slobber up her face and she threw her elbow back into his ribs, to no effect. Then she clawed at his bald head, tearing into him with long nails and shoved her nails into the jelly of his eye. “Ahhh!” The man screamed and threw her to the ground, hard. She heard a sickening crack as her body collided against the floor and she let out a cry. “Fucking cunt!” He snarled, grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her backward as she rolled onto her back and shoving her heel into his wounded eye. “Ahhh!” He punched her hard, a sharp blow into the gut that knocked the wind out of her and she let out a choked noise. “Gimme’ the knife,” The massive man with the shaved head made a gesture at the weasel as Harley rolled around on the ground and tried to get to her feet. He kicked her down onto her belly once more and then she pulled her knees to her chest, reaching down for her heel before whirling around and cramming the toe into the large man’s eye as he came at her with the knife. “Bitch!” He spat and punched her hard in the thigh as she fought against him and grabbed the jagged blade of the makeshift shiv.

                The splinters of the broken glass caught in her fingers as she struggled against him and she managed to shove it through the narrow space below his collarbone. The point pierced through the flesh as the blood spilled out onto her new blouse and she dug her nails into his eyes. She slammed her knee, _hard_ , into his groin and he let out another cry as his grip on the blade loosened and she grabbed for the shiv. She shoved it into his throat, tearing into the veins and arteries as the thick, warm blood spilled out and onto her body. Harley let out a strangled cry as the blood soaked through her clothes and her undergarments as she tried to scramble out from underneath him. “Fuck!” She heard the weasel curse and he tackled her to the ground once more; slamming her head into the tile. The blow sent her into a haze as she laid there; though an iron grip clamped around the weasel’s ankle and pulled him into the elevator. She heard a brutal crack as she laid there on the floor and then heard a scraping as Garvan shoved his belt through the rectangle and climbed out into the corridor.

“Miss Quinzel?” He asked, moving closer to her and pulling her up by her shoulder. A star shaped gash stood out, crimson, on the right side of her hair line and its point was about an inch long as it spilled a little bit of blood. “Harley,” He patted her gently on the cheek before heaving her up into his arms and her head rested against his chest. “Stay with me, miss.” He told her and put her arm around his neck. “There, just keep your arm there.” He stared down at her from behind his helmet and he carried her like a bride through the corridor, moving towards the staircase so they could get to one of the offices. He took the stairs easily, carrying her like she was nothing as he jogged several flights until he burst through the door. He paused for a moment, listening to the raging going on between the walls and he moved, quietly.

“HEY PIGGY!”

***

 _Before_.

                His breath came hotly against her skin, his nose pressed against her scalp and his arms wrapped around her waist as his fingers dug into her back. Harley gently smoothed his hair down with her soft fingers, it was shorter than before and she realised he had cut it without telling her, and without her help. He rolled over, pulling her on top of him and hugging her so tight that she could scarcely breathe. Though she liked him like this all the same, when he “needed” her. It was so urgent in the way he had waited for her, without that frightful makeup and sat on the edge of the bed with his hands wringing and fidgeting. His tongue had darted out over his lips as she stepped into the room with a scowl and she had narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s the big idea?” She snapped at him, in that ditzy voice and he pursed his lips at her, staring. “You left me in there!” She threw the asylum provided shoes at him and they struck him in the chest before falling to the floor, and he bowed his head.

“I was coming.” He told her and she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and turning away from him.

“I’m don’t want to stay here tonight.” She told him and his head perked up at that. “I’m staying in a motel.”

“No,” He got to his feet so quickly she thought he was going to wrap his hands around her throat and strangle her; she winced suddenly not so tough. He hugged her, pushing her curls out of her eyes and kissing her on the cheeks and trying to kiss her lips as she avoided his mouth on hers. “Stay, Harley,” He nosed into her curls and hugged her tighter. “Stay, stay, stay.” He pouted against her cheek and pulled her into his arms, as her legs wrapped around his waist the way he liked; though it was involuntary. Almost muscle memory. He hugged her like a child hugged their teddy bear whenever their parents fought and he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You left me there.” She sulked, glaring into the folds of the duvet and he hugged her tighter.

“I know, I know.” He mouthed against her shoulder and massaged her back with his fingers.

“I’m not staying here.” She told him again and he only hugged her tighter. It was then that she sighed and dropped that stupid voice and asked. “What happened?”

“ _Bats_ ,” He huffed into her pale skin and she rested her temple against his shoulder. “He ruined my entire plan,” The Joker huffed into her flesh, as he hugged her tighter and rested the side of his face against her breasts. “Ruined, foiled…. Nothing at its finest.” He pouted and he leaned back into the pillows, rubbing her back with the palm of his hand and she took pause for a moment.

There was not foiled plan; the sweater she stole to wear had come undone at some time, around the middle, and it had fallen below her shoulder, and there was a ripe hickey over her collarbone.

                He glared at it as he laid his temple against her other collarbone and rubbed it, tentatively. His fingertips were rough and callused as he drew a circle inside of the bruise, and he poked the center to test the effect of it. His bottom lip pushed into a pout as he watched her and set his head closer to her neck. “Who-” He began before he stopped himself and glared at the hickey; she knew if he addressed it then it was real. She ran her fingers through his short sandy hair and twirled it around her little finger.

“What?” Harley asked in her normal voice and he sighed.

“Nothing.” He scowled, staring at the bruise as if to make it disappear from her skin and hugged her tighter. “You’re never going back to Arkham.” He told her and she tilted her head to the side, smiling down at him, almost hopeful. “Not without me.” He told her and she simply frowned.

“Okay, Mistah J.” She said in that ditzy voice, her face became blank and she stared at the crack in the wall. “Whatever you say, Mistah J.”

***

_The Long Passed._

                She was dazed as they tore her away from him, grabbing at him as he hit them with the baton and tried to get to her. The hardness of the baton cracked into skulls and sent sprays of teeth and blood to the floor; one man was hit so hard it knocked out his four back teeth and broke his jaw. “Miss Quinzel!” He called to her as the criminals pulled her further down the hallway, grabbing at her stockings and her clothing until one man tore the sleeve off of her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and blinked a few times as her vison blurred and her head swam; though some of her had the sense to attack. She kicked a man in the nether regions as she struggled and fought against the writhing crowd and eventually found herself in the arms of one of the guards. He shoved her into one of the cells and slid the glass door shut as the crowd overwhelmed him and pulled him into the middle. It was like something out of a zombie movie as they pounded on the glass with bloody fists and howled and grunted at her, she moved until her back was against the far wall and she looked around the cell.

                Harley went to the cot and flung the mattress off of the box spring, searching for a knife or a weapon of some sort only to find nothing. She huffed and tore off her other sleeve before wiggling it into a slight space between the spring and the bed bar; she shimmied and pulled while keeping her eyes on the prisoners outside. She broke off the spring and crumpled it up into a handle in her hands with the two sharp ends poking out like prongs. When her eyes settled upon the bulking corpse of the armed guard, the baton laid near his crumpled hand and she swallowed hard. Then she watched with one eye as fingers slipped through the narrow crack between the door and its frame and tried to shove it aside. Once it was open a slight crack she dived through their legs and grabbed for the baton that laid near the guards corpse and lashed out at the knees and shins. Hands clawed at her, tearing at her flesh with unkempt nails and pulled at her blouse until the flimsy fabric was torn away and she shoved the bulb on the end of handle into one of the prisoners’ throats and broke free from them. “GARVAN!” She called down the hall and saw the battle raged on between the man and the prisoners.

“Harley.” She heard a husky voice sound from behind her and she shivered. “There you are.” He hummed with delight and lashed out at the prisoners, who grabbed her once more and tore off her skirt. He pulled her into his chest like an action hero poster and cracked down upon them with a telescopic baton. The Joker pulled her away from the crowd and shoved her into the wall around the corner. He tossed away the baton she held in her hand and sent it rattling down the hall. “OH,” He cheered, pinning her there as he looked down at her white slip dress and black stockings and garters; a smudge of crimson blood over the front of her underdress. “I thought you had forgotten, but you remembered. Such a good girl.” She let him pin her wrists on the wall to either side of her head, as she was afraid she could not overpower him; **no** , _knew_ she couldn’t. “I haven’t seen you for years.” She kneed him hard in the groin and he grunted, resting his head against her shoulder as she struggled with him and he cackled. “Still a fighter, Harley?” He asked her, before throwing her over his shoulder and marching down the corridor as she struggled on his shoulder.

She said his name once more and threatened. “If you don’t put me down right now _I’m going to kill you_.” Harley kicked and kneed him in the chest as he stalked over to the warden’s elevator and shoved the keys he had stolen into the keyhole. He set her down on her feet and pushed her into the wall, keeping his hand on her shoulder. “I am going to fucking kick your ass.” She threatened and he laughed, before the elevator arrived and he shoved her inside after throwing open the gate. He shut it and leaned against her like he used to, to pin her small frame against the wall as she bit into his back and pounded on his shoulders. “Ouch,” He mocked her and let his head lull back against the wall of the elevator. “You know, you really didn’t get much taller.”

“I’m going to eat you.” She snapped as her cheek scrounged up against his spine and she pounded on his sides with her fists.

“Yeah, you did fill out a little more.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.” He grinned down at her and she huffed. “And now you’re silent, oh I _love_ you.” He cheered, as he crossed his arms over his chest, nonchalantly, and she groaned against the fabric of his uniform. “Do you still dance?” He asked her and she clamped her teeth down on a piece of flesh. “Do you still like sweet things?”

“When I get out of this, I’m going to tear you apart.”

“Wonderful.” He grinned as the elevator jerked to a sudden stop and he grabbed her by the arm, before guiding her into the warden’s office. He kicked the oak door off a hinge and waltzed inside, shoving Harley in front of him as he stalked over to the feeble looking man behind the desk. “Warden,” He made a rolling gesture with his hand and grinned. “What’s your face, I would like to make a proposal.”

***

_After._

                The hot water pounded over her skin as she pushed her damp hair back, smoothing it down her nape and she squirted some smelly strawberry shampoo into the palm of her hand. The foam moved down her skin in chunks after she lathered the cream into her scalp and she turned to wash it out with the warm water. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw something poking into the shower, only to realise that it was just Mickey poking his nose past the curtain and she sighed. He eventually climbed over the lip of the tub and laid across her feet as she scrubbed the dirt from her pores with a stiff brush. It turned into giving him a bath half way through as she climbed out onto the bathroom mat and she toweled off before toweling Mickey off. It was wonderful as he stretched over the foot of her bed, smelling pleasant and looking clean. She only wished his scars would heal.

She pulled on a pair of panties before slipping into a torn pair of jean capris and a baseball tee with maroon mid sleeves and a pair of white sneakers. Her door shuttered a little bit as she wrung out her hair and rubbed the towel into her scalp. Claws _pitter pattered_ over the hardwoods floors and footsteps sounded up the steps until they reached her bedroom door.   

There was a gentle knock on the other side of the door and she smiled.

Harley crossed the floor from the foot of the bed and twisted the lock in the center of the brass knob. Then she pulled it open, pushing her dried curls over her shoulder and she leaned in the crack in the door. She rested her temple against the door frame and she smirked.

“Hey there, handsome.”


	4. Something Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rather strange that the man with no name has a name, don't you think?

_Before_.

“Aah,” She whimpered and moaned, holding her stomach as she keeled over on the floor. “Help, someone,” She pounded on the glass of her cell, feebly, and smudged blood over the clear surface. The nurse came forward, clawing at their belt for her keys and unlocked the glass door. “Please, oh God, help me.” She begged the woman as she came forward and knelt at Harley’s side; resting her hand on Harley’s back. “Oh thank you, thank you.” Harley told the woman before catching her by a chunk of her black hair and slamming her head into the wall. “Thanks a lot.” Harley stood, easily, and began to unbutton her dress before stealing the nurse’s white gown. It was tight on her, though it would do as she pinned on the pill cap and took the woman’s baggy grey cardigan as well. Harley folded the wrist back as the sleeves fell too low over her hands and she dragged the semi-conscious woman to the cot. She lifted the nurse easily enough after putting her into the simple grey dress and she shoved the woman beneath the blanket. Some crimson blood from the woman’s shattered nose spilled onto the corner of the blanket, so Harley tucked it underneath the woman and tucked away her coarse black hair. _Why would someone so frail ever get a job like this_ , Harley wondered as she closed and locked the door behind her. She quirked an eyebrow at one of the prisoners watching her and then moved down the corridor.

Her heart was in her throat as she stepped through the gate of the elevator to stand between two guards and she supressed a sigh of relief when one of the men asked her: “What floor, miss?”

“Ground, please.” She told him and he eyed her up and down through his visor after pressing the button and leaned next to her. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” He smiled behind his visor and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. They rode with her all the way down and watched the sway of her hips as she walked out into the main lobby. “Why would they let a girl that fine wear a uniform that tight?” He asked his friend, who simply shrugged his shoulders in turn and they rode up the elevator once more.

                She nearly peed her panties when she saw the Bat dragging Two-Face in by the elbow and his little police boyfriend following behind him. Harvey gave her a funny look as she walked past him and she winked, only to have him begin laughing and cackling like a mad man. She simply waltzed out the door and walked along the cobblestone walkways and stepped out into the parking lot. _Then_ she began to run, moving to each car and peeking in the windows before she settled upon an old grey four door. She smashed the window with a massive chunk from the broken curb and pulled the lock. She tugged the door open and swept the shards of glass off of the cloth seat before climbing inside. She popped the steering column out and hotwired it to life, as the engine grumbled and snarled at her. Harley adjusted the seat so her feet could reach the pedals and she pulled out of the parking lot, before pulling onto the twisting and turning road that led from Gotham to Arkham.

When she saw the Batmobile driving down the hill behind her, she began to rummage through the glove compartment before her hand found something she could use and she shoved it into her cardigan pocket. He drove by her, nonchalantly, though she was not so easily fooled -no matter how much they always thought she was- all the way up to the moment that monstrosity flung around and blocked the road for her. She slammed on the breaks with a huff and narrowed her eyes at the car as Batman and Blake got out of the suicide doors. “Quinn, get out of the car now.” Batman told her and she rolled her eyes as she slumped back into the seat and watched as the Batman came over to the driver’s side. He pulled open the door for her as Blake held his gun up; though he did not actually point it at her like he should have. “You’re going back to Arkham.”

She pushed her bottom lip into a cute pout and slipped out of the car, looking rather small between the men. Her small hand dipped into her pocket and she sprung at Batman before shoving the end of the taser into the exposed flesh of his cheek and pressed the button. He let out a grunt and crumpled as the officer went for her, only to be nailed in the groin with her knee and she shoved the taser against his neck. “Fuck!” He yelped and fell to the ground as she pulled the gun out of his hands and she moved to climb back into the car once more as Blake hopped on her. He rested all of his weight on her, wrapping his arms around her and pinning her elbows as she struggled against him. She pushed her tailbone into his nether regions and shifted him up on her back so she could hit the top of his head on the window.

He fell off of her then and she climbed back into the car as a massive black fist crashed through the middle of the car window; the weakest point. He caught the front of her nurse gown in his fist and he tried to pull her out as she stomped down on the gas pedal and flung the wheel to the right. The car flew into the slate of the side ditch as that bat boy held on for dear life and she swerved onto the winding road once more as the car rattled. She elbowed him in the mouth over and over as he held onto the car with an iron grip and she tried to get him out. Those stupid bat ears poked her pill cap as she tried to shove him out of the window with a hand on his mouth and he grabbed the steering wheel. “No!” She yelped and stuck her thumb in his eye, which made him untether and gave her enough time to shove him out of the window. She winced as she looked in the rear view mirror and watched his black silhouette rolled over the lumps in the road, then she pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

                The smell of burning rubber filled the air as the tires kicked up the rocks of the road and a cloud of dust. She swerved around the bend and released the breath she was holding as the car flew down the hill. It ate up the pavement of Gotham streets as she turned sharply around the corners and ditched the car in an alleyway, before running down the sidewalk. Her sneakers rang on the metal stairway that led up to the subway train and she _hopped_ on the next one as it began to roll away. The man in the back opened the door for her and she told him a slightly true story about two creeps who were chasing her, and he let her go into one of the cars. She settled down on one of the vacant seats and let out a deep breath before leaning back into the seat.

                She stopped at one of the open restaurants after lifting some man’s wallet and she counted the money in the alleyway before heading into the diner. Harley ordered a burger with everything but chili on it and a side of greasy French fries with a bottle of Coca Cola. She sat on at the counter and squirted some ketchup over her fries before eating in silence and read the paper for anything that Mistah J could have been doing. _Nothing_ , she sighed as she bit into her burger and some of the mustard dripped onto her fries. “Can I get you anything else, sweet heart?” The chef called to her from behind the open wall of the kitchen and she shook her head. Though she had not eaten since she got to Arkham, because she knew for a fact that they drugged the food, and her tummy was growling for it.

“Actually, could I have some of that sponge cake?” She asked, pointing at the case on the behind the counter and the man nodded his head, cutting her a square shaped slice. She ate it after finishing her entire plate and she stuffed some money into the tip jar before leaving with a small pink box.

She took her change and went to one of the payphones to dial up a taxi, so she would not have to run around through the streets with Batman looking for her and bringing along the Gotham police. Once the man arrived she told him to drop her off a block away from her destination and she walked the rest of the way.

                Then she was in his arms, being swindled out of her clothes and laid out on the middle of the bed. In the aftermath of it all she laid in his arms, before he released her and turned away on his side. His faint snoring filled the air as she curled up into a ball on her side and turned her back on him with a frown. She sighed before slipping out of the bed and picking up her panties off of the floor and pulling them on. He laid behind her, glaring into the bricks of the wall and watching her shadow move through the room as she pulled on a massive band t-shirt and that cardigan she came in with. She closed the door quietly behind her as if not to wake him and tip toed across the floor as his henchmen slept around the open room. She moved into the back alley where she could cuddle with her hyenas, who nearly bowled her over they were so happy to see her, and slept out there until the next morning.

                She pushed open the back door and climbed into bed with him once more as he laid there on his side, wide awake. She rested back into the pillows before looking at his pale back and shimmied closer to him until her face was buried between his shoulder blades. She wiggled her hand beneath him and she put her arm over his chest as she hugged him. He turned over to face her, closing his eyes and nosed against her cheek before pulling her closer to his chest. “Hmm,” He mumbled into her scalp as she nuzzled into the hollow of his throat and he reached down to tug at the hem of her nightshirt. “These clothes gotta go,” He hummed as she sighed against his skin and he pulled the shirt over her head before tossing it to the floor once more. He feathered kisses over her neck before laying her out on her back and kissing down her chest to the pale flesh of her belly. “I missed you.” He rested his temple against her tummy and then kissed her between her legs.

She pet his hair gently with a sigh and confided. “I missed you too.”

***

                She could scarcely breathe as they lay next to each other panting and she turned her back to him as he nosed at her shoulder. They had not left the bedroom for the entire day, stopping only between climax and Harley was beyond sick of it. He pawed at her again for more as she turned her bare back to him and he laughed against her spine, twirling brown curls around his fingers and pecking her on the nape of her neck. “I don’t care how much you missed me,” She told him in her natural voice, only it was breathy and she could scarcely think straight. “I am **not** going another round with you, you crazy bastard.” He pouted against her skin as the ragged flesh of his scars grazed over the soft flesh of her back and he placed a kiss between her shoulder blades. “No.” She told him sternly as he kissed her shoulders and nuzzled into her neck as she fought a smirk with a frown. “I mean it, Peanut.”

He laughed at the nickname and rested his nose in the curve of her neck. “It’s better than puddin’ anyhow.” She smacked him, playfully, in the back of his head with her hand and he snickered into neck. “You love it.”

“No, I’m not a cowgirl and you’re most certainly not a missionary, but that is **literally** all we did today.”

“I like to look into your pretty face.” He smiled against her skin and she rolled her eyes. “And we could do more if you weren’t so touchy about your ass.” She jabbed him in the chest with her elbow and he laughed against her shoulder blade. Harley pushed away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and straightening her hair. “It is _so_ lovely, so lovely and round.” She huffed and he patted her on the side before she picked her panties off of the floor once more.

“All of me is round.” She told him as she pulled on the purple underwear and he caught the side of them with his index finger and pulled her back to the bed.

“And all of you is lovely.” He pulled her into his chest, feathering kisses over her cheeks and nipping at her neck. She ran her smooth fingertips over the rough skin and the ridges of his fingers and knuckles. Her thumb ran over the straight edge of his finger nail, before she leaned back against his chest and laid her head on his collarbone. “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t like metaphors.” She glared at him from over her shoulder and he laughed.

“I don’t think that’s the right word.” He put his arm around her neck as she rubbed his rough thumb print against her smooth palm and he sighed against her neck. “Though I am very interested in what’s in that pink box of yours.”

“Ew.” She told him and he smacked her on the rump, before she glanced at the diner box on the piled up clothes on the table. “Oh,” She said, moving out of his arms and taking it off of the table to bring it to him.

He cocked his head to the side as he opened it and broke off the corner of the lemon sponge cake and tasted it. “Ummm, Harley.” He took another piece then offered it to her as she leaned back into his stomach and she rolled her eyes. “You know your sweets, Miss Quinzel.”

“I already ate some.”

He grinned at her after popping the cake in his mouth and he sucked the lemon crumbs off of his fingers. “Didn’t eat in Arkham?” He offered and she gave him a mocking smirk.

“Says the bastard who left me there.” She sneered and got up from the bed once more to pull on a pair of baggy pink sweats with the word "pink" in black across the rump and a white tank top. She pulled out a fitted dark grey zip up sweater and zipped it up part way.

“You always get so touchy whenever you’re there.” He hummed, rolling over on his stomach and resting his head on his crossed arms. “You were fine whenever I saw you.” He told her and she turned her head away from him as she fastened on an old white brassier. “And by that love bite on your collarbone, you have yourself a good time when you’re there.”

“Fuck you.” She snapped and pulled open the door before walking out and slamming it behind her. The door rang in the frame as she stalked across the cement floor of the factory and the men watched her pass towards the old employee bathrooms. She shoved the door open and looked at one of the six foot clowns taking a piss in the urinal while his two friends talked about the football game with him and she snapped. “Get the fuck out of here.” They gave her dirty look as the man shook himself off and zipped up the front of his jeans. He moved to walk out with his friends in tow before she snapped at them again. “Wash your hands, ya fuckin’ savages.”

“What did you say to me, ya one eyed bitch?” _Fuck you, Doctor Burton, you_ **evil** _bastard_. She thought as she glared up at the man with that pale gaze and cracked her knuckles.

“How ‘bout I make you one eyed too?” She smirked at him and he pursed his lips before he and his friends went to the row of sinks and washed their hands. “Now, get the fuck out.” She sighed and locked the door once they left, before going to the last old, rusty shower. Her towel hung on a bar there, untouched, and a basket of her cleaning products and one of those scrubbing gloves. She twisted the cold knob and let the icy water spray over her as she squirted some dollar store shampoo into her cupped hand and then she lathered it into her scalp with it.

She heard the lock click as he turned the key and listened as he walked across the floor.

She sighed as she washed out the foamy shampoo and filled her palm with the creamy conditioner, before massaging it into her scalp and her curls. His eye peeked through the crack in the door at her naked body as he looked at her neatly folded clothes on the radiator and she turned her back to him. “You’re not going anywhere.” He told her in that stern voice, crossed with her, and he leaned against the stall door. “I’m not letting you disappear again like you did.” He drummed his fingertips on the door, making it rattle in its place and inspiring shivers down her spine. “No, no, no.” He hummed in his crazy voice and he watched as she cringed. “I’mmm never letting that happen again, I tell you, never, never again.” She smoothed her washed hair down the back of her neck with her hands and he slammed his fists against the door causing it to tremble. “Harley answer me right now or I’ll tear this fucking door down!” He watched as she shrank to the ground and pulled her knees to her chest. “Har har leee?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She told him in a shaky voice and he cleared his throat. “Like I did before.”

“Good girl.” He told her and he smirked. “Now move over.”

***

                Harley smoothed the fabric of her stockings with her fingers as she sat before the old fashioned vanity once more and wound her curls around her knuckles. She was about to put in her blue eye contacts before she stopped herself and stared into the mirror; those eerie mismatched eyes staring back at her. The right eye was off a slightly different shade than the other- more pastel grey, _pale_ like dried timothy grass- and the left a pale grey-blue. _Frightening._ She sighed, then left from the small room pulling on a pair of little black ankle boots with short heels, and she stopped two steps out of the door. “Oh for fuck sakes.” She cursed, staring out into the large open room where Boy Wonder sat in one of the old wooden chairs with ropes wrapped tight around him and a gag in his mouth. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she shifted her weight to one foot with her arms crossed over her chest. Joker sat in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and that stupid makeup painted on his face as he observed the officer. She put on that ditzy voice as she shimmied into Blake’s view with her back to him and she knelt down on the floor in front of the Joker.

He sighed as he looked down at her with those dark hooded eyes and pursed his crimson lips at her. “What do you want?” He asked her, curtly, with a scowl as she gave him that pretty, nervous smile and she set her hands on his thighs.

“Could I go out tonight, Mistah J?” She asked him and he glared at her.

“Aren’t you going to hold the fort with the rest of us?” He asked her as she rested her cheek against his knee and he cocked his head to the side.

“Please.” She asked, sweetly, in her normal voice and he sighed.

“Fine.” He told her and she moved up to kiss him on the lips; whilst Blake cringed. His purple gloved fingers traced her jaw line with leather fingertips and he smirked at the way his red makeup stained her lips. “Do you need any money, Peanut?” 

“No.” He wiggled his white nose against hers and smiled at the way she giggled. “Though you otta stop getting your stupid makeup on me.”

He hooked his index finger beneath her chin once more and pressed his lips to hers before releasing her. She made a point of keeping her back to Blake as she walked through the factory in her short red dress and searched for her black blazer. The clown with the rounded grin sat near the door and held it for her as she put her arms through. She gave him a strange look as she caught his eyes wandering down her skin and she pushed open the back alley door.

She was late as usual, the candles had already flickered out in the sudden breeze and everyone cheered. Hands clamped as she slipped in through the back patio door, slipping in behind the crowd and watching as Nina kissed the -sad looking- birthday boy on his head. Ruffling his dark locks with her fingers before beginning to cut the circular cake into pieces for the gathering guests and Harley moved closer to him, as he sat there, miserable. A blue birthday hat sat on his head with the white strap digging into the soft flesh of skin, everyone else wore suits and business attire but he wore a pair of train conductor overalls with red sneakers, and his pink lips were pushed into an endearing pout. He was too busy staring into the grain of the long dark oak table to notice her approaching and she pressed her lips close to his ear. “Happy Birthday, cutie.” She kissed him on the head and he looked up at her with a smirk.

His hands raised from beneath the table and he signed. “ _I almost thought you would not show_.”

“No, I’ll always just be late.” She told him and he guided her away from the table to where an array of presents sat on the table. His small hand in hers as they crossed the hardwood floor and he showed her a grey stuffed rabbit with a blue and white plaid ribbon tied around his neck into a bow. He showed it to her as she stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders and he set it down to show her a pocket knife. “How wonderful.” She told him and he laughed; it was quiet and almost inaudible.

“Hey Harley.” Nina appeared at her side, looking rather splendid in her pale pink dress that was cropped to the knee and fitted to her lean figure. She had cut her mousy hair short into a bob and dyed it pitch black so that it framed her narrow, oblong face. “You look lovely.” She smiled a pink lip gloss smile and leaned into the table as she offered the little boy cake. “Here, Westley,” She set the small plate in his hands and he thanked her in sign language. “Did you see his pocket knife?” Nina asked in disdain and Harley laughed.

“Yep,” She popped the “p” and her cousin sighed.

“His _uncle_ got him that. Who in their right mind gets a five year-old a knife?”

“Who in their right mind gets a five year-old the entire set of encyclopaedias?” Harley asked picking up one of the hard covered books and taking a peek inside before rolling her eyes.

“He wanted them.” Nina said, in a mockery of defense, before poking at the white ribbon of Harley’s little present for him. “What did you get him?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“He already opened his presents. Well I did anyways, he wanted to hide.”

“Fine.” Harley picked up the little box off the pile and set it in his hands before signing. “ _Open it_.”

His fingers delicately peeled back the folds of the newspaper wrapping and slid the ribbon off of it without tearing. He looked at the little cardboard box made from a cut down pink diner box and he cocked an eyebrow at her. Then he pulled open the lid and grinned at the contents.

“Oh Jesus Christ.” Nina sighed and took a swig of her red wine. “I’m going to go get you some cake.” She told Harley before strutting over to the long table once more and Westley picked out the fleshed picked racoon skull and ran his fingers over the smooth sun bleached bone. In the bottom of the makeshift box laid a small handbook to the human anatomy and one of those caramel apple suckers from Old Town in Gotham. His favourite kind.

“ _Thank you_ ,” He signed and kissed her on the cheek when she bent down for him. She ruffled his hair with her fingers and he did not cringe at the touch as he had at the long table. He set the contents in the box once more and set it on the top of the pile as they moved to one of the couches. Nina found them there with a slice of cake in her hands and sat with Harley as she held Westley in her lap, nodding off.

“Are you going to spend the night here or is Mister Marvelous going to come burn my mansion down?” Nina asked, leaning back into the leather cushion and Harley played with Westley’s small, pale hands.

“I’m going to drive back.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad. I have no one to keep me company in this hell hole.” Nina sighed, leaning her temple against Harley’s shoulder and the other girl snickered.

“What about your son?” She asked and Nina took pause.

“My what?” Nina asked and Harley patted Westley’s tummy. “Oh yeah. He just sits in his room, he likes his _aunt_ more I’m sensing.” She told her and Harley rolled her eyes as she rubbed ovals around his midriff and his head rested back against her breast. “Could you put him to bed for me?”

“Yeah.” She told her and tapped his tummy, gently. “Westley, wake up.” She told him and he stood, leaning back against her knees whilst she got to her feet. She picked him up and set him on her hip before crossing the mile of tile towards the massive set of steps and then down the long hallway. The last room on the left with the darkest oak door was Westley’s and it was smaller than the other rooms in the entire mansion.

Harley laid him out on the bed, taking off his red sneakers and setting them onto the floor and she undid the straps for his overalls then helped him shimmy out of them. She set them in the woven laundry hamper and crossed the room to the chest of drawers where a collection of animal skulls hung on the wall above it, on wooden shelves, and fished around in the top drawer for pyjamas. Her hands found a matching pair of pyjamas with little white deer on navy fabric and she pulled out a pair of fuzzy striped socks in the drawer beside it. “Here we go.” She went back to him and helped him out of the rest of his clothes before slipping beneath the heavy duvet of his twin bed. She tucked the blanket underneath him and he made a small noise as she moved to cross the room.

“ _Mom_ ,” He signed, tapping the tip of his thumb to his jaw and she smiled, climbing into the small bed with him. “ _Can you stay_?” He asked her and she shook her head, lying on her side next to him before resting her cheek against his brow. “ _I want you to_.” He confided and confessed. “ _Or I want to go with you_.”

 _Definitely not_ , she thought and he offered her his stuffed blue elephant to kiss. She pecked the elephant upon the flat brow of its head before lying it across his chest once more and kissed the boy on his brow. Harley had made the elephant herself out of a cute blue jumper that Westley had when he was a month; it had long lean, cylinder shaped legs and a rather crudely simple face with white horns. His name was Bruce, after Westley got the idea from _Jaws_ ; his name used to be Scout like the girl from _To Kill A Mockingbird_.

Westley peeked at the lamp on the chest of drawers and spun his index finger in a turning motion, which made Harley sigh. She got up from the bed and crossed the cool hardwood floor before turning the plastic clown figure on the body of the lamp away from the bed. Then she climbed back into bed with him as he snuggled up close to her, putting Bruce between them and nuzzled his face into her ribs. “Goodnight, West.”

***

                It was black as pitch in the bedroom when Harley awoke and she disentangled herself from the sleeping boy; kissing him on the brow and pulling the blanket higher on him. He made a sad little noise as she crossed the floor and picked up her boots while she tip toed through the dark room. She bumped the corner of the chest of drawers with her hip and pulled the door open as quietly as she could. She shut it noiselessly behind her and moved down until she was able to get down the stairs. Though the remaining cake on the kitchen island –across from the foot of the stair- caught her eye and she cut herself a piece before putting it on a paper plate and escaped to the car she had stolen. Her vision swam in the shadow of the mansion and the trees that surrounded it as she pulled out onto the gravel road and she cried, quietly, even though she was all to her lonesome.

                She stopped at a McDonalds for something to eat and sat in the parking lot after whizzing through the drive through. She got herself a large fry with an eight piece chicken nugget and a plain cheese burger, even though they decided to put everything out it. She ate it all the same and finished it before heading over to one of the small grocery stores, which happened to still be open for the Gotham night life. Harley parked the grey Hyundai Santa Fe beside a line of hookers and locked the door behind her as she crossed the sidewalk to the store.

Harley walked the aisles with street walkers, who were either going to feed themselves or their children, and a few prioritizing junkies, carrying a little basket. She picked out pre made sandwiches, a plastic box of red grapes, plenty of candy, a box of Oreo cookies, and some nice steaks for the hyenas, before she took pause in the refrigerator section. She picked out a small carton of milk and another of orange juice before she went over to the cashier.

It was there that she noticed a man standing across from her at another cash register, staring intently with a clown mask in his hand and a bag of _Laughy Taffy_. He cocked his head to the side as she stared at him and Harley swallowed thickly before purchasing her things and rushing to her car with the bags. She tossed them in the back seat and slammed the door before climbing into the driver’s side.

The car whizzed around corners and the tires gobbled up the cracked pavement as she drove back to the factory and tip toed inside. She put the groceries away and passed a wretched looking Blake and to the Joker’s bedroom door. Only she hesitated, _if I don’t go in I can pretend I slept with the hyenas_ , she thought and stopped herself before going out to her pets. She stripped out of her dress and blazer before wiggling into a red pair of long johns, while she fussed with the white buttons down the front and laid out on the fluffy bed. “What do you think you’re doing?” She heard that wicked voice ask from the dark shadow of the wall, _I was wondering where the babies were_ , she thought as she looked at the two hyenas sitting at his side. “Where have _you_ beeeen?” He asked her in that frightful voice as his white face appeared out of the shadows, a crimson Glasgow grin crossing his face and two black orbs shining behind his eyes.

“I was at Nina’s.” She said, though it was too quickly for his liking and he came a little closer.

He cocked his head to the side as he glared at her and he gave her a bitter smile. “How ‘bout I go up there and ask her?” He snarled as she backed away from him, tip toing backwards like something out of a Scooby Doo episode, until her spine pressed into the harsh brick wall. “Yoooou wouldn’t like that, would you?” His white painted nose pressed to the tip of her nose and he narrowed his eyes at her. “ _Where were you_?” He snapped and she shrank as she stared up at him with those wide, mismatched eyes. His hand fisted in the back of her curls as he jerked her head backwards and she bit her lip. “ _He_ like your crooked eyes? Hmm? Did he like that pretty red dress I bought for you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She told him, though her tone was unsteady in her fright and she knew it would only make him angrier.

“Don’t make me angry, Harley, okay? I don’t like being angry.” He snarled and she squeezed her eyes shut as he pressed the switchblade against her cheek. He tsked her, firmly, and pulled her hair even tighter. “Now,” He soothed and nosed against her cheek before staring into her mismatched eyes. “Tell me the truth, baby.”

“I went to Nina’s house for my _niece’s_ birthday party, I swear.” Harley told him, giving him that sweet doe eyed look that used to make him swoon, only then it made him angry. He raised his fist and shook it at her before growling, low and predatory in his throat.

“Come to bed or -so help me- I will carve a pretty, pretty grin into your face.” He threatened and she followed him back to the bedroom, where he tore off her long johns and tossed them onto a pile of dirty clothes. He shoved her down to the bed as it dipped beneath her delicate weight and he fell upon her.

“Eek,” Harley yelped as he shoved himself into her sex, snapping his hips against her as she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth so her cries would not awaken the poor officer in their “living room”. It was over quickly, even though he didn’t finish and he laid at her side, panting. He shifted closer to her, lying on his side as he watched her lie there on her back and squeeze her eyes shut tight.

He pursed his lips as he stared at the crystals shining in the corners of her eyes and ran his rough fingertips down over her ribs. “Har har leeeee,” He heckled whilst she stayed as still as a statue and he sighed before nosing into her shoulder. “Peanut.” The Joker smirked at her, though she would not amuse him and simply turned over on her side. “You’re no fun.” He sighed, still watching her back as she laid there and he huffed. “I’ll get you a puppy if you just give me a pretty smile and hold my hand like you used to.”

“I’d rather you carve up my face and get sick of me.” 

***

_The Long Passed._

                The wind rattled the loose windows of the bungalow and crooked branches rapped on the tattered roof. She pulled on the stiff cotton shirt, buttoning the sleeves at the wrist and fixing the collar up around her throat. “Hurry up!” He pounded on her bedroom door as she pulled on the pale pink skirt and zipped up the side after stuffing the bottom of her shirt into the waistband. She pulled on a pair of grey thigh high stockings in a rush as she groped around beneath her bed for some shoes. “I said hurry the fuck up!” He roared in the short hallway beyond her room and she heard something fragile rattle to the floor. Harley pouted before she went and opened the door, fixing her school bag on her shoulder. “Get moving or you’ll miss the bus!” He roared at the back of her head as she ran down the narrow steps and almost fell towards the bottom. The last step almost broke her heel before she scooped her coat off the hook and ran down the narrow pathway through the open screen door. “You forgot your lunch!” He shouted after her and the lunch pail cracked into the back of her head. That one took her down. Harley laid on the dirty pathway for a moment before she pushed herself to her feet and went back inside. “Your lunch.” He reminded her as he cackled and she grabbed the broken handle.

Harley grabbed a pair of faded overalls out of the laundry basket on the couch and trotted up the stairs. She turned into the bedroom to take off her dirty clothes and picked out a black and white striped t-shirt from her middle drawer. “The bus is gone.” He told her through the thin white door, covered in pink flowers and chipped paint. She sighed and took her time getting dressed and fixed her curls into two pigtails on either side of her head. She wound the curls around her fingers in the mirror and stepped out of the bedroom as she went to the top of the stair. “You’re gonna wear that?” He scoffed and she huffed before trotting down the steps. She twisted the broken knob on the door and she opened the front door. “Dike.”

“Cunt.” She said in a voice barely above a whisper and crossed over the pathway to the sidewalk.

Harley hoped he hadn’t heard.

                She counted the cracks in the Gotham sidewalk, skipping over the broken spider webs and running her fingertips over the rough brick walls. The brass button on her side popped off when she hopped into one of the small puddles, as her hips had become too wide for them in her age and she stared at the button in the gutter with a sad sigh. “Very endearing.” Hummed a man as he leaned back against the store window and he smirked at her. She gave him a strange look as she stepped off the curb and crossed the street past the old run-down bakery. “I like your overalls there, doll.” The man followed her a little ways, carrying a funny-looking case like a violin, and he wore grey dress pants and a crisp white dress shirt. “Ain’t you the prettiest girl in town?” He hummed with delight as he followed her along and she glanced at him from over her shoulder. “How old are you, babydoll?”

“Fifteen.” She told him, hesitantly, as he walked along beside her and towered over her small, curvy frame.

“Oooh,” He awed and she shied away from him. “And I suppose you’re off to school, are you not?”

“I might be.” Harley replied as she stepped over a wide crack in the pavement and he walked along beside her, admiring the action.

“What’s your name, sweet?” He quirked an eyebrow at her as he ran a hand through his short sandy hair and smirked.

“Harleen.”

“Pretty thing for a pretty girl. I suppose your surname must be a dread then.”

“It’s alright.” She shrugged her shoulders and stopped walking as he brushed a stray curl out of her face.

“And what’s that?”

“Quinzel.”

“Harleen Quinzel,” He hummed for a moment, before giving him a charming grin and she pursed her lips. “Play around with it a bit and you get Harley Quinn.”

She paused, pursing her pretty, red lips and thinking. “Like a jester? A _harlequin_? Something like that?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

***

                The light in her office flickered above their heads as she sat there in her computer chair with her legs crossed and the tip of her pen tapping against the paper. A small bandage peeked out from the sweep of her loosely curled fringe, the rest were tied back in a loose bun like an old movie star and she caught him staring at her bland grey eye patch. “You look different, ya know.” He told her as she sighed and leaned back into her cushioned chair. She wore a cutesy rich hemp looking grey skirt suit, short and a zip up sweater top. “You didn’t have one of those patches the last time I saw you.” He nodded at her, as there was not much he could do: chained to the floor and strapped up in a strait jacket. “Still a tiny girl.” He commented as she frowned and rolled her eyes.

“You told me that the other day and I only have this patch because of your stupid jailbreak.”

“I mean, ah, the one on your eye.” He wanted to wag his finger at her, as she scowled at him in that pretty way she had and he grinned.

“You didn’t have a cut up face.” She retorted and he simply smirked at her.

“Neither did you.”

The bell buzzed for the session to end and Garvan parted from the wall to unchain the prisoner and march him on down the hall through the door. She sighed, leaning into her chair as she listened to the rattling of chains and traced the threading on the chair arms.

Her foot tapped upon the dirty carpet of the floor and she rested her chin on her fist. Garvan opened the door and began to cross the small office to his place on the wall once more, but stopped in front of her and looked down at her. She looked up at him with one eye and he swallowed thickly for a moment before offering. “Miss Quinzel,” He said and she pursed her lips at him, prettily. “I heard something strange the other day.”

She tilted her head to the side as she watched him and asked. “And what was that?”

“Well, I just found it rather strange that you know his name.” She watched him for a moment, her eye widened slightly and she stared him, sternly.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I heard that The Joker was a John Doe.”


	5. Midnight Snack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a shredded and beautiful face. 
> 
> What a lovely and broken smile. 
> 
> What a strong f*ckin' drink.

_The After_.

                His rough fingers combed through her lamb soft curls and coils, as he wound them around his scarred knuckles and his bow shaped lips pressed down her back. She laid on her side as he nipped at the jut of her shoulder blades and sucked a little pink splotch on the back side of her neck. The curve of her neck rested in the nook of his elbow, while his unoccupied hand smoothed down the silkiness of her curves and he pressed himself into the upper part of her inner thigh. He drummed his fingertips on her hip as she smiled into his forearm and he nosed into her curls and loose coils. “What do you want?” She smirked as he traced the round slope of her hip and he rubbed the spot with the harsh heel of his hand. He leaned over her, lying on her back and nuzzling her cheek as she looked around the room.

“A nice shower with you would do.” He hummed against her curls, before pecking her on the temple and she laughed into the pillow he had especially for her.

His house had not been like she had expected, all white and clean like an institution. It was a pain in the ass sometimes with the way the second sheet was tucked in with prison sides and she was cold and wanting to roll over. Harley sighed softly into his skin as he pulled the thick cotton blanket higher on them and he pulled her a little closer. He traced her lips with his thumb before pulling her on top of him and they laughed. He patted her on the rump as she snickered at him and he nosed into her neck. “I have to go home.” She told him as he drew circles on the soft flesh of her tummy and he settled on his side with her in front of him.

He looked over her with dark eyes at the electric clock and he pursed his lips. “It’s five o’clock.” He told her and looked at the wispy curtains over the small window beyond her body. “The sun’s barely up.” He wiggled a little closer into her and she snickered, before he patted her on the rump. “Come on.” She sighed at his urging and he nuzzled into her neck. “It can wait, can’t it?” He asked as he hugged her a little tighter and he brushed back her curls until they were behind her ear.

“I have to go back.” She told him as he pressed her back into his chest and feathered kisses over her neck. “I can’t.” Harley laughed as he explored further and she reached back to smack him on the shoulder blade. “I mean it.” She told him shyly as he rolled over on top of her and rested his brow against the pillow beside her head. “I have to get back.”

“So soon?” He offered and she laughed.

“I stayed here for the majority.” She told him and he stretched out over her as she wiggled against him. Harley told him, softly, and he laughed at her. “I’m serious.” His lips wandered over the porcelain skin of her neck as she shrugged him off and he pulled her a little closer with one hand over her bare breast. “If I’m going to stay any longer. I’m going to need a cigarette.”

***

 _Before_.

                His dark eyes followed the pacing man as he walked back and forth in front of the wooden door in the far corner of the ware house-looking floor and Blake swallowed, thickly. It was like watching an old lion stalking back and forth in a circus cage; his dark mane fussed from sleep it seemed and his horrid clown face smudged about though still evident. He was mumbling something to himself as his red lips twitched and his tongue darted out to swipe over his scars. It worried the police officer as he gaped at the psychopath and wiggled his pale nose at the clown. Though his eyes wandered to the thin strip of dim yellow light beneath the door and wondered when someone went in there, _I didn’t see ‘em_. He thought to himself and slumped back into the uncomfortable wooden chair. The thin ropes wrapped around his wrists tore viciously into the rawness of his skin and the officer winced at the bitter pain.

The Joker tapped his shoe upon the cement floor with a scowl, before he slumped back into the wall and then rapped on the middle of the wooden door. “Harley.” He muttered at first, glancing wickedly at the officer and then knocked a little harder. “Harley.” He narrowed his eyes as the black paint creased in the folds of his skin and he scowled. “Harley?”

“Piss off, clown.” She snapped from the other end and he crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.

It made Blake take pause though as he gawked at the door and pursed his lips; trying not to laugh.

“And if I come out to find you moping around out there I will feminize you with my teeth.” The pretty tone beyond the door threatened and Blake coughed to supress a laugh; as the clown huffed.

He slinked away from the door before coming to sit down in front of the officer on a stool with a short backing. The Joker turned the stool around and straddled it, before crossing his arms over the backing and scowled at Blake. “Do you like women, Blake?” He offered and the young officer stared. “I know you hang out with the Batman an awful lot, but you can’t be too sure.” The Joker shrugged his shoulder and Blake nodded his head with a frown. “So…. do you like women?” His fingers intertwined over the black arch of the backing and cocked his head to the side.

“Are you serious?” Blake scoffed, his tone wry and his lips twisted into a bitter-sweet smirk.

“No, I just want to talk about me. If you’re a _poof_ and we can’t find anything relatable then I’ll still talk about me.” The Joker shrugged his shoulders in the tight lavender coloured shirt and then wiggled his nose.

“I’m not gay.” Blake told him and The Joker snorted.

“Sure, Batsy just wears a black leather suit and you two hang out _all_ the time.”

“I’M NOT GAY! I like women.” Blake retorted and The Joker grinned, his teeth cleaned and scars taut.

“See, common ground.” The Joker told him and sighed. “I love women. Especially that _little_ ,” He scowled, bitterly, and Blake pursed his lips. “Munchkin.”

“She’s a real charmer.”

“She’s something.” The clown frowned and the door opened, slowly, as a cute, _tiny_ blonde stepped out.

 _Holy_ shit, Blake thought as he watched the girl walk passed without a second glance his way and shuttered. _She’s_ young.

Her platinum blonde hair was tied at each side of her head, falling in darling curls and a black scrunchie around one then the other in a red one. She wore no makeup, though Blake thought she did, for she was too perfect in her structure. She leaned down and pulled on a pair of black wedge sneakers before fastening the Velcro strap above the ankle.  The pair in the chairs admired her round rump in her bright crimson short shorts and watched the way her loose black tank top poked up in the back to reveal the wide “v” of a hot pink and black polka dotted thong.

When he looked up once more, he found that The Joker was glaring at him with those cruel hooded eyes and the officer slouched back into the chair.

Though his attention was drawn back to the blonde, again, as she slung a simple cotton bag over one shoulder and the clown frowned at her. “Where are you going?” He inquired as she moved towards one of the doors and paid him no mind. She shoved the large door open before disappearing into the bright moonlight from the darkness of the old comedy bar.

 _What a sad clown_ , Blake watched The Joker as he stared after the girl before raising from his seat and disappearing into the back room where the edge of their bed peeked out.

                Harley hailed a cab on the curb of Wayne Street, or some nonsense, as she stood by the news stand and hopped in the back before telling the driver to bring her over to Liquor Alley, where she could get some quiet and a nice drink. Though she fell asleep against the window and the taxi driver used a meter stick beside the center console to prod her bare shoulder before she jerked awake. “Lady, your stop is here.” Harley took pause for a moment before she looked at the clogged street of night life and pursed her lips at the window. “Lady, your fare is forty bucks.” The greasy thirty something told her and she fished around in her bag for her wallet and then stuffed a wad of green cash through the square opening between them.

“Keep the change.” She sighed, as she shoved the car door open and stepped onto the sidewalk into a line of sleazy street walkers, who in turn eyed her up and down. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder as a crooked eyebrow-ed transvestite gave her a dirty look.

“Bitch, get off of this corner. Too many hoes here already.” He told her with a pucker to his painted lips and she paid him no mind as she passed through the line.

Her stomach grumbled absently as she walked along down the sidewalk and she looked for the perfect spot. One bar appealed to her with a sign that declared it had “the best burgers in Gotham” though a fat brown rat sat on the windowsill and practically waved at her. “Nope.” She mumbled to herself as she walked along and looked up at the numerous strip clubs down the stretch.

There was a bar around the middle, called “The Grim Lyn” with a thin, green cartoon troll standing beside the lettering and she figured the name had been changed due to copy right. She fired up a white cigarette that hung from her pretty lips as she paused by a strip club entrance and covered the end while she lit it.

She was about to stuff the pack back in her purse when a terribly slender woman made her presence known and asked. “You have another one of those, darling?” Her dark brown hair spilled into her pretty, gaunt face and her thin lips pulled into a pretty smile.

“Yeah,” Harley told the woman and offered the pack as a finely manicured hand offered itself to her; then she took pause for a moment as she watched the woman lit the cigarette with a blue plastic lighter.

The stranger was not a woman in the “typical” sense, and only wore a dress to prove it. His big hand offered the pack to the short girl and Harley simply smirked and stuffed the cigarettes into her bag once more. “Are you lookin’ for something, pet?”

“Nope, just a drink and something to eat.” Harley shrugged her shoulders and the stranger pursed their pretty, pink lips before nodding their head. The dark chocolate waves of his wig dipped down his bared shoulder with the way he tilted his head and Harley shifted her weight to one foot.

“You’re not a whore or nothin’?” He offered and Harley shook her head. “Huh,” He pursed his lips before nodding and shrugged. “You’re damn cute though, and you had me going there in those short shorts. Could make a fortune on this street.” His hand swept out and she admired the fine lavender nail polish on his press on nails.

“Well, I’m just hungry for something else.” She told him and leaned against the brick wall. “Have any suggestions?” She quirked a neat eyebrow and the man smiled behind his makeup.

“The Super Pussy Casino, clean kitchen and nice brothel in the back.” He shrugged and she smirked at the vulgar name, a childish impulse like the gentle flush in her cheeks.

“Not together I hope.” She jested and the stranger chuckled, prettily. His voice was gentle and sultry in its make, while it danced off his silver tongue and she listened patiently for more.

“Nope, but squeaky clean. My sister works there and she’s horrified of filth.”

“Well, thank you.” Harley said, as a burly biker type swaggered out of the club and eyed Harley for a moment. “See you another time, maybe.” The girl said, before she carried on down the street and admired the bright neon signs. “Jesus, how many strip joints can you fit on one strip?” She muttered, before the bright blue and purple letters caught her eye and a naked cow girl kicked her leg mechanically on the fluorescent sign. She rolled her eyes, before shoving the door open and stepping inside to be hit by the pungent stench of cigarette smoke and an orgy of cologne.

                A stripper with a shitty red dye job pranced past her in a dental floss thong and a pair of sparkly high heels, before she sauntered up the stairs of the perpendicular stage that jutted from the back wall with four circular stages around the corners of the spacious room. Three drunkards slumped in dingy beige chairs on the edge of the center stage and watched a twirling naked blonde with glazed over eyes. Her brown nipples standing proudly on her massive fake breasts and she swung around the pole with her nether regions pressed into the metal.

No one greeted Harley as she entered, though two strippers/servers threw themselves at the man who entered behind her and it made her sigh. “Food better be good.” She grumbled to herself as she past a crowd in the room and attracted the eyes of a few customers, before she climbed into one of the bar stools. She hanged her shoulder bag on the back of the seat and rested her elbows on the edge of the bar as she watched a twenty something at the end of the bar shake a drink, vigorously. Tattoos in blue-green shined beneath the folded sleeves of his red flannel and two black disks stretched his ear lobes as he poured out the watered down martini into a stub glass. Then walked down the long bar to Harley and admired her pretty, round face for a moment. “Hey, baby, what can I get for you?” He offered, as his fingers splayed over the bar and leaned in close so she could hear him over the throbbing techno music.

“Could I get a rum and coke, plus a menu?” She asked, as a black haired woman emerged from behind the red curtains in a trench coat and ripped it off in a swift motion to reveal her _revealing_ attire beneath.

“Yeah,” He shouted, as a roar tore through the drunk crowd and he reached beneath the counter to pull out a menu for her.

Harley watched as the stripper groped her fit physique and teased herself through the thin black bikini bottoms she wore. Her fingers slipped down before tucking away the bottom and flashing her naughty bits to the crowd, which made Harley wince. “Eek,” She turned on the stool and then looked down at the plastic menu, pursing her lips.

She ignored the way the bartender stared at her, intensely, with dark brown eyes and she rested her chin on her fist. “Not a lot of girls come in here,” He told her, as she wiggled her cute nose and shrugged her shoulders.

“I see a few girls in here right now.” She muttered to the plastic menu before tapping the picture of a full cheese pizza. “Do I have to order a full pizza, or can I just get a slice?”

“Just a slice, unless you have a party showing up.” He told her and she nodded her head.

“Could I get a slice of the vegetarian pizza with no olives?” She asked and he nodded his head, slowly, as the crowd erupted once more.

“I’ll go put that order in.” He told her, as he walked down the length of the bar and swung around the end, before slipping back into the double doors of the kitchen.

Harley turned around to look at the show, as the stripper’s bulbous domes bounced about and her manicured fingers kneaded the pink circles of her nipples as the crowd watched in awe. A brunette with her hair wound into tight curls strutted down the stage towards the dark haired woman, dressed in a BDSM attire and hit the other in the bottom with a short cropping whip. “This just gets weirder and weirder every time I turn around.” She said to herself, before turning back on the seat and drumming her fingertips on the face of the counter.

She was too busy staring into the grain of the counter to notice the bartender returning and plunking a paper plate down on the counter before her. “Fresh from the oven.” He told her and she looked up at him with her eyebrow quirked in a darling way.

“Is this cooked?” She asked at the quickness and he nodded his head.

“Yeah, she was just making some, but it has pepperoni on it.” He gestured to the massive slice and she looked down at the red splotches on the melted cheese.

“Doesn’t matter.” She shrugged and picked up the slice, daintily, before folding it down the middle and taking the sharp end onto her tongue. The bartender gawked at her, eagerly, as she took a bite and a little string of white cheese extended to her pretty lips. She pulled the pizza away and set it down on the crinkled paper plate, as the white line broke and the bartender’s lips parted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He inquired and she gave him a dirty look, before laughing and shaking her head.

She covered her mouth, politely, with her hand and warned him. “You don’t want to go there.”

“What you one of those workin’ girls?” He nodded over to the door and she shook her head, before taking another bite of the greasy pizza slice. The sauce almost burnt her tongue, before she chewed and swallowed, while the bartender stared at her. “Well, are you?”

“No.” She shook her head and he pursed his lips.

“Do you want to go fool around in the washroom or somethin’?” He asked and she shook her head.

“Do you want to make me that rum and coke, or what?” She retorted and he frowned, before nodding his head humbly. He moved to get the bar brand rum and poured it into a tall glass before topping it off with a bit of cola from the sprayer.

She took the glass as it slid across the bar and took a sip from the rim rather than the silly black straw that laid over it. “Drinkin’ like a champ I see.” He offered and she stirred the straw around in the darkness.

“Drinking like a boxer, so watch yourself fella.” She told him before taking another sip of the strong drink and he pissed off to help another customer at the end of the bar.

“What can I get you?” She heard the boy ask as the music took a break and the drunks flooded the bar for another drink and she rested her elbows on the edge of the counter.

“A bourbon with a bit of cola in the bottom.” The man at the end of the bar told him in a deep, sensual tone and she stirred her drink, slowly.

“Hey, sweet heart, where have you been all my life?” A sleaze ball beside her asked, as she shifted away from him in her seat and took another bite of her pizza.

“In the slums.” She grumbled, still covering her mouth out of courtesy and she took a sip of her rum and coke.

“Well, baby, you’re the prettiest girl in the room.” He told her and admired her pretty face with beady black eyes. “And believe me, it’s scientifically proven.”

She turned to him, as her eyelids drooped humorously and she smiled at him, prettily. “What the fuck does that even mean?” She maintained a sweet voice, but still the man scowled and staggered off into the room, before she was able to return to her pizza and booze.

“And now, lady and gentlemen,” A lousy man grumbled into a microphone that spit with feedback and she turned in her seat as she took a sip of her rum and coke. He grumbled on about something that only the drunks seemed to understand as she looked out at the crowd that remained and she took the last bite of her crust.

“What’s this now?” She leaned into one of the customers and asked, his lean face turned to the stage and he gave her a once or thrice over.

“Best act of the night.” He told her, as three undergarment clad women danced out onto the center stage and then began to tear off each other’s clothing, viciously. “How much?” He moved in closer to her, to ask and she gave him a dirty side look.

“Excuse me?” She asked and threw the rest of her rum and coke back.

“How much for you to suck me off in the bathroom, quick and fast if you like.” He offered and she narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll pay double if you let me fuck you.”

She scowled and made a turning motion with her index finger. “Turn around and fuck right off.” She warned him and he gawked at her for a moment, before flushing a deep shade of red and escaping into the dispersing crowd as they all returned to watch the girls play fighting on stage. “Creeps.” Harley huffed as she turned on the spinning stool seat and tapped the bar. “Can I get a boilermaker and one of these chicken wraps?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” He told her, once again leaving her without a drink before getting her meal and she sighed before turning in her seat to look at the spectacle on stage.

Two of the women were kissing each other passionately as the crowd watched on and one pretended she was a cat or some sort of cleanly, or horridly uncleanly, animal as she licked strips up one of the girl’s bare backs. Her hand slid down the receiver’s thigh, before she groped the woman’s nether regions and Harley leaned back into the stool.

“May I sit here?” A deep tone asked her and she turned to see a well-dressed man standing at her side. His hair was black as pitch, cropped short before it came to a gentle cowlick in the very front and a thick goatee rounded his lovely mouth.

“Go ahead,” She shrugged her shoulders, as his dark grey gaze lowered down her stature and he smirked at her. His large hand came over the top of the stool and he slowly pulled it from the counter an inch or so before settling down upon it.

“Can I get you a drink?” He offered and she shook her head. His dark eyebrow arched as he regarded her carefully and he tilted his head to the side. “No?”

“No, I’m alright thank you.” She told him, as the bartender returned and poured a shot of bourbon and then a Heineken from the tap into a tall glass for her. He slid the shot and the bulb shaped glass across the grain of the counter and she set some cash down on the face, before throwing back the shot.

“My kind of girl.” The man in the fine suit smirked, as he drew the line down his tailored suit jacket and fiddled with the circle of his buttons with his rough thumb. He watched as she drank deeply from the beer glass until the alcohol was drained and wiped a little bit of foam off the corner of her lips.

“Can I have a Tom Collins and two more beers?” She asked the bartender and he nodded his head, as he tried to think about the ingredients for the specified drink and moved to the end of the bar to the draft system. He pulled the lever and filled two tall glasses, before bringing them to her and the stranger.

“Are you buying me a drink?” He smiled at the blonde and she rolled her eyes.

“No, why do you want one?” She asked, as she took a deep drink of one of the beers and watched the bartender. He poured two ounces of gin into a medium sized glass with a broad top and a few ice cubes sitting in the bottom. Then squirted some lemon juice from a container that looked like a mustard squirter and topped it off with some flat Sprite imitation brand from the soda gun. She pushed the second beer over to the stranger as the bartender set the Tom Collins down in front of her and she drained her beer glass.

“You should probably slow down there, girly.” He told her, as he turned to his side in the seat and rested his elbow on the counter. “You’re a tiny thing.” She licked the residue of beer off of her pretty lips in a sensual manner and he practically purred at the sight. “How tall are you?”

“Four foot eight.” She muttered, before the bartender returned with a plate of greasy French fries and a chicken wrap sliced diagonally in half. “What’s this?” She asked the bartender, gesturing to two deep fried somethings lying on the right side of the paper plate and the stranger laughed, softly.

“They’re deep fried pickles.” He told her, as she tried the fries and decided they would do. “One of the best products on our menu.”

“Hmm,” She hummed, before tasting the edge of one and wiggling her nose at the tartness within.

He brushed her Goldie locks down her back and smiled at her. “I’m Dean Touhy.”

“Funny, you don’t sound Irish.” She told him, picking up a fry between two fingers and popping it into her mouth. He chuckled, softly, as she smudged the grease over her napkin and took a drink of her Tom Collins.

“No I don’t.” He confessed, twirling one of the blonde curls around his finger and she ate another three fries. She beckoned the bartender and asked if she could get the food to go, as Dean rested his temple against his fist. “Leaving so soon?” He asked her, as she tasted another fry before the boy behind the counter took it away and she turned to drinking the boozy drink.

“Yep,” She popped the “p” in a pretty way as the man twisted in his seat to watch her and she crossed her feet at the ankles.

“You should stay a little longer.” He told her, eagerly, though remained calm and clipped in his manner.

“I have to go.” She threw back the rest of the booze and set the glass down, as she fished around for her wallet once more.

“You should stay for a job interview.” Dean mentioned, as she watched the bartender return with a thin cardboard box and she tucked the ‘doggy bag’ into her purse. He watched as she closed the metal button on the mouth of the bag and pursed his lips. “You’d get paid very well here and,” His grey eyes wandered over her lovely flesh and smirked. “You would probably just have to deal with me.”

“I’m not a hooker.” She retorted, as she hopped down from the stool and sauntered away from him with that pretty sway in her wide hips.

“Blondie,” He called after her as she moved to the front door and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a real blonde either.” She shot back over her shoulder, as she pulled open the door and moved out into the street.

The gentle wedge of her sneakers rang off of the sidewalk, as she fired up a cigarette and looked up at a clown faced figure walking among the crowds. “Shit,” She huffed, before tossing the cigarette to the cement and stomping it out with her shoe, before turning sharply into a back alley. She passed a blue dumpster that acted as coverage for a drunkard getting a blow job, and a castle of cardboard boxes where a homeless man might have lived when the night life died down. She moved quickly along the brick valley, before turning left down the next passageway into a pitch black alleyway. A narrow stretch of yellow street light moved up to greet her down the middle and she slowly crept along it.

Harley sighed, softly. “For someone in all black, you don’t hide very well in the dark.”

Two shadows detached themselves from the brick wall, as Harley stopped in the middle of the alleyway and folded her arms over her chest. “Quinn.” The Batman said in his gruff tone, his dark cape swept over the dirty gravel behind him and a man in a green suit came to stand in the light. “Where’s Blake?”

“I don’t know, last time I saw you bunch of fucks you was blowin’ each other in that ugly car of yours.” She told them, in that silly Jersey accent and the man in green snickered. “What the fuck you laughin’ at Peter Pan?” She retorted and the man frowned, as he reached up to touch his silly green hat and she peeked around him to see his bow and quiver. “Robin Hood, I’m guessin’?”

“It’s Green Arrow.” The man retorted, leaning forwards a bit in his anger and a strip of platinum blonde hair peeked into the light, behind his ear.

“Where is he?”

“How should I know?” She shrugged her shoulders and shifted her weight to one foot.

“Quinn.” Batman said in a threatening tone and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I mean it, I’m wasted and don’t even know where _I_ am.” She lied and he frowned at her from behind his black mask. He grabbed her rough around the shoulder and pulled her towards the street beyond where the batmobile waited for them. “Great.” She groaned as he clamped the bat-cuffs on her and picked her up, effortlessly, then tossed her in a back compartment behind the seats. Harley laid in a ball on her side, as Arrow and Bats climbed in through the suicide doors. The engine rumbled and then scurried over the pavement for a moment, before moving smoothly. “I’m squishing my dinner.” She frowned, as the shoulder bag laid beneath her and she tapped her foot on the floor of the mobile.

“Where is Blake?” He repeated, as he twisted the wheel and the car flung swiftly around a corner and raced up towards Wayne Mansion’s hill; though she did not know this of course.

“With Mista J.” She told him, blandly, and she pulled her knees up.

“Shit,” Arrow winced and Harley frowned at the back of the man’s head.

“He’s fine.”

“As long as he’s not smiling.” Batman grimaced at the darkened wind shield as the car raced up into the coverage of trees and the dirt road spit at the burning rubber of his tires. She rested her temple against the felt carpet and sighed, softly, as she stared at the leather backing of Arrow’s seat.

The car jerked forwards suddenly and she hit her face on the back of Arrow’s seat. “Ow.” She mumbled into the leather as they threw open the doors and she rolled over on her back with her knees in the air.

“We’re here,” He told her, harshly, before taking her by the forearm and he hoisted her out of the car. She looked around at the tall cement walls of the “garage” and pursed her lips. Her feet settled down on the ground and she leaned back into Batman to keep her from swaying after all the booze hit her head. He untied the two straps as they clung to her shoulder and the bag dropped down to the ground, beside her. “Come on.” He told her, urging her forwards as the Arrow collected her bag and they moved into a “high tech” looking room with a black décor and he sat her down at a sleek black desk. “You’re going to show me where the Joker is.” He told her, tapping the edge of the table and a map of Gotham came over the touch screen built into the table.

“Lame.” Harley sighed, as she looked around at the map and pursed her lips.

“Based on the Joker’s comfort zone there has to be a two mile radius around this point.” Bats told her, as he drew a circle around a certain neighbourhood and enhanced it to zoom in. He watched her face as her pretty blue eyes flickered over the buildings and she spotted the old chuckle factory six building from the middle of the circle; though her face did not tell.

“Welllll, you’re only half wrong.” She told him and tilted her head to the side, pretending to be silly as she squinted at the street names and pursed her lips. “Could I eat the rest of my dinner?” She asked him and the man sighed, before going around and unlocking the cuffs for her.

“Softy,” Arrow scoffed as Batman took the cardboard box and set it on the dark rim of the rectangle before her.

She smiled at him, prettily. “Oh, you’re such a doll when you want to be.”

“Just tell me where he is.” He told her as she took a fry from the container and popped the greasy strip into her mouth.

“Do you want some?” She offered, as she picked up the slice of the chicken wrap in both small hands and she took a bite off of the end.

“Be serious with me, Quinn. Blake might die in the Joker’s care.” Batmen told her in a sharp tone and the juice of the tomato slices swished around her mouth as she chewed the soft wrap and half a slice of the white chicken breast.

“He’ll be fine.” She sighed, taking another bite after swallowing and crossed her feet at the ankles. “As long as he’s not a diabetic or somethin’, he hasn’t been eating much and probably hasn’t been sleeping well.” She assured him, as she popped a crooked fry into her mouth and swallowed. “He… doesn’t have any medical issues, does he?” Harley asked and even Batman admired the sweet look that came over her face.

 _Sympathy_ , he thought as he watched the gentleness of her fallen face and the innocent tone to her fake accent. “He has epilepsy.” He told her and frowned, when she simply cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You’re a bad liar, Bats.” Harley told him with a laugh and took another bite of her chicken wrap. “But,” She covered her mouth with one hand as she spoke and tapped her index finger on one of the many parking garages near the old strip mall. “He’s dickin’ around with that Russian who has those big Rottweiler dogs.” She told him, and he looked down at the place before pressing a flat button on the table and a tablet disconnected from the table for him to pick up easily. He tapped on the screen, looking at the place and figuring out the blue prints.

“Which floor?” He inquired, as she took another bite of the wrap and offered the box to Arrow.

He picked out a couple of fries before making a pile in the center of his palm and he leaned back into the “computer” desk. “Thanks.” He muttered in a charming tone and she finally saw the man wore a short, garden green tunic with t-shirt sleeves and a brown utility belt wrapped around his hips. 

“And I’m not sure, but which ever one has….” She took pause for a moment, as she tried to think of the colour and told him. “Vans, big plain work vans. I’m not sure what colour, but they don’t have logos I know.” She explained, taking the last bite of the wrap and swallowing. “Now, do you want the other half?” She offered the batman and he sighed.

***

                Her laughter was like sunshine on a rainy day, as she sat in the back of the mobile giggling and snickering as the car transitioned into an air borne craft. Her hands were bound behind her back as her knees pressed up into the center console and she tried to peek out the dark window. The aircraft glided through the air over the brick buildings as Batman glanced back at her and suppressed a smirk. She rested her cheek against the shoulder of his seat and she looked at all of the colourful buttons over the black dashboard; and Arrow regarded her, carefully. The glider shifted to the side, tilting as she braced her feet on the side of the container and she smiled with a pretty noise. “Whee!” She cheered, as the air craft glanced over an apartment building and tapped the top of a street lamp, leaving it slanted. “This is fun.” She murmured as she stared with a childish wonder around the dark compartment and Arrow quirked an eyebrow behind his half mask that covered only the top portion of his face.

“There they are.” He said, as he pulled over the parking garage swiftly and nested at the very top, where the three work vans sat across from each other. _A deal_ , he thought to himself as he hopped out and both sides froze. Arrow stood at the side of the batmobile and Bats stood rigid as he stared at the vans.

“Hey Jonny!” Harley cheered from the back seat as the man with the burlap sack on his head looked towards her and grinned beneath the mask. “Harvey, you’re here too?” She grinned and the mobsters turned to the vehicle with their machine guns out. “Oh shit,” She cursed before she shoved herself off the edge by her feet and she hit the cement ground as the bullets rang off of the cement.

Everyone scattered behind cars and Bats shot a glare her way as they hid behind the car together.

“Oh, hey there fella.” She smiled at him, sheepishly, as the bullets pounded divots into the dark metal of the craft and Arrow poked his head out to shoot some electrified arrows at the mobsters.

Crane slumped back against the wall of a white van and Two Face fired a revolver at the black bulge on the cement floor. “You get Harley,” Jon leaned in closer to confide and Dent nodded his head, slowly before firing off a few shots. “I’ll deal with everyone else.” He told the psychopath, before watching Harvey brace himself for a moment and then darted over to a silver four door also in the parking garage.

Jon sighed, softly, pulled his blue-grey suit jacket out a ways before yanking out three skinny looking grenades. He pulled the pin on the contraption and hurled the steaming can over the top of the van at the mobsters.

“Harley!” Harvey hollered to her as he came sprinting for her and he hooked his arm around her hips.

“Batman!” Arrow cried to his friend, as Two Face did a baseball slide across the floor until the two of them knocked the thick door open and they broke into the stairwell.

Harvey pulled her upright and flipped out a switch blade, as he wiggled the point in the key hole and the cuffs fell to the ground. “You know, you should really call before you drop in.” He jested with her, as he took her by the hand and they moved down the stone stairwell towards the foot of the parking garage.

“What about Jonny?” Harley asked, as they trotted down the stairwell and he shook his head.

“He’s got it covered.” He told her as they spun around the corner and turned down the next break in the stairs, as Crane chucked another grenade over, where it landed on the batmobile.

                The misty green gas filled the air and Bruce scrambled to get his gas mask from his utility belt, before shoving it into his mouth. “Here.” He tossed a spare to Arrow, but the blonde was already set upon by the affects as he thrashed around and screamed violently. “Shit.” He yelped, as he tried to pull Arrow up to his feet and missed the lithe figure sprinting past them in the green mist.

Jon shoved the door open and bolted down the stairs, until he was out of breath. He stumbled on the last set of stairs and fell on the landing, before he shoved himself to his feet and raced down the stairs to meet Harvey and Harley by the opening of the parking garage. He skidded to a stop, before he caught Harley around the wrist and hauled her towards the bright strip mall lights beyond the apartments and slums. “A little warning would be nice next time.” He told her as they ran through the streets and still they all held hands, tight. Harvey didn’t say a thing as they broke into the parking lot and Harley stopped suddenly behind a pickup truck. She yanked the burlap sack off of Jon’s face and fixed his short brown hair, carefully. He watched her as she brushed the front of his hair into a cowlick and his full lips pulled into a pink smirk as he stared at her pretty, focused expression.

Her hair wasn’t right; nor her contacts. But nothing would take away that beautiful face.

“Now, come on.” She grabbed Jon by the hand and they ran into the _Shoppers_ drug mart, as a Filipino family shied away from the strange crowd. “Find the bathrooms, and I’ll meet you there.” She told them, before she broke away from them and moved calmly towards the stretch of name brand stores. She bumped into an older man who stood by the tile fountain and shoved his leather wallet into her pocket.

The mall was rather empty, as she turned into the _Gap_ and snatched a grey men’s sweater off of the wall and examined the hood carefully. “How much for this?” She plunked it down on the counter and the youth behind stared at her for a moment.

“Um,” He quickly scanned the tag and punched some nonsense into the machine. “Thirty dollars and seventy six cents.” He told her and she handed him forty.

“Keep the change.” She told him, before taking the sweater off of the counter and pulling it on. She giggled, cutely, as the teenager gaped at her and she smiled. “It’s freezing in here.” Harley lied, before moving out of the place and ducking into the _Garage_ next door with the grey hood pulled up over her blonde wig. She tucked it down once she was inside and picked a few things off of the shelves before slipping into the change room, as the girl behind the counter played with her phone.

Harley’s fingers moved quickly over the bobby pins that held the wig and she tossed it beneath the bench in the small chamber, before shoving her shorts down around her ankles. She kicked them off, before picking the orange sweat shirt fabric short shorts off of the hook and yanking them on over her rump. She pulled a grey baseball shirt with pink mid-sleeves off of the hook and pulled it over her wild mane of brown curls. “Shoes,” She muttered, before kicking off the wedge heels and frowning. “Damn.” She groaned, before slipping out of the stall with the grey sweater folded over her arm and she slipped into the little nook where the ill-fitting and unwanted clothing sat on racks and in piles. She rummaged around before she found a pair of cheap pink Uggs imitation slippers and yanked them on. Harley poked her head out, looking at the lanky teenage girl fiddling with her cellphone behind the counter and then followed along the racks towards the door, before she walked hurriedly towards the food court.

She huffed as she tied the grey sweater around her waist and then ducked into the hallway that led to the two different washrooms, before she shoved the door of the men’s washroom open. “Harvey, Jon?” Harley asked and found them leaning together in the back by the last stall. “Here.” She untied the sleeves and tossed it to Harvey, before the man pulled it on and flipped the hood up.

“Where to now?” Jon asked her, quickly, and she slowly combed through her curls with her fingers.

“Try and lift a car.” She told him and fluffed up her curls, then led the way out of the bathroom through the food court.

“Oh shit.” She heard Harvey grumble and caught the gleam of the silver plating on his six shooter. Then she looked up to see the Batman and Green Arrow staring around the food court, over the empty tables and the few crowds of youths and poverty stricken mothers taking their children out for a cheap meal. The pair stood barely half a yard away with several civilians in the way and the polar opposites locked eyes.

Jon took out another canister of fear and pulled the pin, before throwing it over to the halfway point and Harley watched as the small cloud of gas sprayed from the crack in the top. “Jonny,” She all but yelped before she ran for the canister as Scarecrow tried to grab her and she scooped up the burning grenade in her hands. Harvey started firing off shots at Bats and Arrow as she threw the can at the closed gates of a closed restaurant; away from the few children and stray youths in the food court.

“Harley!” She heard Jon call to her, before his arm hooked around her waist and pulled her towards the exit through the glass doors. She shuttered as he shoved her through the doors and Harvey clipped Arrow in the meat of his thigh.

“Got ‘im.” Harvey laughed, as they moved towards a small Granny car with only two doors and an ugly maroon colour to its brand.

He smashed the window with the butt of his revolver, before hopping in the driver’s side and the other two hopped into the back seat, hurriedly. She laid over the leather seat that reeked of something musty and the skunk stench of pot; then shoved herself away from the seat and came to lean back against Jon’s side as the small car flung itself to life across the pavement. The balding tires screeching and burned over the cement as Harley clutched at Jon’s hand; like a scared little girl. His slender arm came around her, easily almost second nature, and he hugged her to his side. Only when she looked up at him, it was strange.

Her pale brow furrowed and her pretty pink lips puckered into a pout, as she stared at the grimy burlap sack over his face; like a second skin. The folds fastened over with taut beige stitches and a twisted look upon the wicked face; she could see his eyes through the small holes. Only now they were dark, not bright blue, but black as pitch, almost as if his pupil dominated his entire eye except for a thin golden ring. He glanced down at her as she stared up at him with those pretty doe eyes and he asked. “What’s the matter, Quinn?”

Harley looked at him for a moment, before twisting upon the seat with his arm thrown over her shoulder and she leaned her temple against his ribs. She frowned down at her feet before staring into the dingy yellow leather of the center console. “Nothing, I was just sane for a moment there.”

***

 _After_.

                The soft grey suede of the cushions brushed over the backs of her thighs as Harley slumped back into the couch, still in her slutty nurse inspired waitress uniform and cloth apron, and she scowled down at her white Vans sneakers. “Hff,” She huffed as she kicked her shoes off with the toes of her sneakers to the heels, before she laid down on her side and stared at the way her curls cascaded over the smooth surface. It was late, _too_ late, she could barely function properly as she laid there and the wheels in her head creaked and cracked. The darkness pooled into the Ikea catalog living room, even though it was sparsely furnished, and it could be said the neatness was inspired by prison. Or her wretched days in a messy warehouse. 

She rolled off of the couch and flopped down on the hemp carpet with a huff, though still she was sleepy. The pain was dulling but expanded down her side as Mickey pressed his pointy black nose to her pale one and staring at her intently. “Can I help you?” Harley asked, before pushing herself to her feet and then slowly walking across the hardwood floor to the kitchen. His long claws scraped over the lamented surface as he followed close behind and he watched her attentively while she pulled the refrigerator door open. She pulled out a small plastic bottle of flat coke spliced with peach and mango juice, then rummaged around for a sandwich bag of sliced up garden carrots.

She tossed one to the German Shepard as she moved over to the dark oak kitchen table and took a bite of one carrot stick.

 _Ding dong_.

Her head perked up as she looked over at the front door and the chiming bell, her fingertips pressing hard into the edge of the table. The whites of her knuckles revealed themselves through red skin as she clutched the table, harder and harder. She looked at Mick with his perking ears and she chewed her lip.

 _Thump thump_.

The wooden door grumbled, as she slowly pushed herself to her feet and tucked her hand into the utensil drawer in the counter. Retrieving a small .22 caliber pistol with pitch black plating and she snapped a clip inside.

 

 _Thump thump_.

 

The noise came again as she slowly tip toed across the hardwood floor and she came to stand behind the door. The cool muzzle pressed into the paneling and Mickey stood close at her side, as she peered through the small eye hole.

She could see the shadow of a thumb tip pressed over the little lense and swallowed thickly.

“Who is it?” She called to the other side, but there was a long silence for a moment and she laid her index finger along the snubbed barrel.

 _Ding dong_. The bell chimed once more and she shuttered as the thumb remained.

“Who. Is. it?” She snapped, before she pulled the door open and then glared at the body on the other side.

The gun in her hand quickly tucked behind her back and she stared with those pretty eyes, endearing and helplessly innocent. “Were you saying something? I couldn’t hear you.”

She shook her head and backed into the wall the door leaned across, nodding to the couch.

“Did you just get off?” He asked as his leather boot came over the door lip and he set his coat upon the hook by her head. She was so small, as she slumped into the white paint and watched him with tired eyes. “Long shift?” He offered in a solemn tone, before coming to stand almost chest to chest with her; if she wasn’t so small.

“Yeah.” She sighed, before leaning her brow into his chest and he hugged her close.

“What’s behind your back?” He asked, tentatively, but she was urging him towards the couch and he soon failed to notice her sleight of hand. She tucked the gun behind the couch, upon the table behind it and she pushed him over the armrest. He fell back upon the comfortable cushions and asked. “Is this a new couch?” His dark eyebrows raised, but she paid him no mind as she climbed up on top of him and straddled his hips. She leaned down to press her lips to his plump ones and his hands groped her round rump. Her fingers slipped easily into the strands of his hair as she sucked on his full bottom lip and tugged on it, eagerly, with her teeth.

“Wait,” She told him between short breaths and his suddenly urgent kisses. “I have to lock the door.” He sighed, softly, glancing down at the unzipped fly of his pants and he stared up at the white ceiling. He listened to the click of the several locks upon the door and wondered why none had been done up while he was at the door. He tapped his index finger against his sternum as he waited for her, before he looked over his raised knees at her standing over him and she smirked at him.

“Are you going to take off that uniform?” He quirked an eyebrow, as she climbed on top of him once more and her skilled, little hands snaked down the front of his pants. Her sweet tongue nudged past his teeth and swirled around in his mouth, as he moaned.

“I thought you were going to take it off me,” She told him, with a wicked little smirk that practically made him purr and stayed patiently still while she feathered kisses down his throat. She flipped the buttons of his shirt, undone, as she moved down his chest placing gentle kisses over his cologne and sweat stained undershirt. She pinched the white cotton between her teeth as she moved down to the elastic waistband of his boxers and tugged at it with her pretty white teeth.

“I just might hold you to that if you keep teasing me.” He hummed, as Mickey tucked himself beneath the table behind the couch, and she sucked a gentle pink blossom on the jut of his hip. His rough fingertips slipped over her scalp as he shoved his long fingers through her curls and coils, before he entangled the shiny brown locks around his knuckles. He urged her upwards before leaning down to press his lips against hers and she massaged his thighs with her fingertips; gentle and soothing.

He released the fistful of curls and hugged her around her wide hips, before pulling her up onto his stomach. She held him between her knees carefully, as she swallowed his breath and sucked on his lips. “Here,” She hooked her fingers in the sides of her white cotton panties, before wiggling out of them and leaned over his chest once more. “That’s better.” She sighed, before moving her soft lips over his neck.

“Yeah,” He sighed, softly, staring at the ceiling as she kissed at his bared throat. “That feels better.”

***

                It was soft, like virgin lamb’s wool or Harley’s curls. The somberness of it all was sweet in its nature, as they laid entwined upon the couch and their pale bodies glowed grey in the dreary lighting. He liked those moments, where time would stop just for them and he could move her small, fragile body with the gentle heaving of his chest. Her soft hair spilled over his bare chest in swirls and the thin dark grey throw-over covered all that was necessary. His fingertips ran gently over the soft flesh of her thigh and to her scarred knees, back and forth like a pacing man. Her soft breaths crept over the coarse little tufts of hair on his chest and his pale skin between; soothing him to a deep sleep.

Though when he woke up in the morning, she was gone from his side and it made him sigh to the early morning air.

 _I guess that’s how he felt_.

***

 _Before_.

                His tongue slithered over his Cheshire scars, as he stared down her pale curves and admired the way her curls and coils fell over his chest. He hummed softly to himself as his eyes bore into her sleeping form and she fidgeted against his side. It was a treat to watch her so blissful. It saw him off to sleep like a television lulling in the background, and like a television it kept him up a long while afterwards. Her leg was thrown over his nether regions as she slept and he hugged her tighter to his side; as he noticed her body slowly tilting back and making like she were going to turn away from him. “No,” He hummed in a soothing tone against her scalp, before pulling her tightly into his bare chest and held her there, pinned. “Stay here.” The man told her, while the Joker simply glared down her naked body and she shuttered.

The need stung his throat and he stared at her almost desperately.

 _Just stay with me_.

***

_The Long Passed._

                His hands splayed over her smooth bare back and she snickered into his chest; her teeth grazing over his pale flesh and soft lips tickling his ribs. She looked up at him with those pretty doe eyes and he combed his fingers through her curls and coils. “What?” He asked her and she shook her head. “You don’t believe me?” She straddled his narrow hips as Harley leaned over him and pressed her lips to his, before shaking her head once more. “You don’t?” He arched an eyebrow as she began to suck ripening hickeys all over the curve of his neck and collarbone; where his collared shirts could hide it.

“No, not really.” She snickered so sweetly and he tucked a clutch of curls behind her ear; without the hindering of those damned eye patches. Her lips pulled into a red smirk as he traced them with his fingers and lost himself in the tenderness of the motions.

“Why is that?” He asked her, shaping her soft sides in his hands and she gently pushed him away during the scrutiny.

“Because it’s crazy.”


	6. Soft and Glimmering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pinch of broken glass and the bright flash of a camera.

Before.

                The sky wept as the moon laughed at him upon his pitch black throne and the rain rolled down over the sleek white metal of the police vehicle. Harley let out a soft sigh as she watched the police dogs pulling impatiently upon their leashes and rested her pale temple against the window of the police car. His brutal cackling echoed over the fading wail of ambulance sirens and the Joker leaned back in the leather seats of a cop car far from her. _Forgotten_ , she thought to herself glumly and sat all alone in the car with her hands shackled behind her back and her feet fastened down. She caught a look from a disheveled Blake who sat upon the edge of the ambulance and glared at her as one of the medics worked on his split brow. _At least someone remembers I’m here_ , she twisted upon the seat and waved at him with crumpled, doll-like hands. Then resumed slumping against the seat and sulking.

Jon Crane sat somewhere in a different cop car, also to his lonesome, with his sleeves unbuttoned and bunched up around his elbows. His face was sleek with sweat from the night long run and his brown hair was plastered to his brow. He kept glancing out his window for a sign, for just a glimpse of his little brunette friend and found nothing; to his dissatisfaction. Jon’s long elegant fingers fidgeted with his handcuffs behind his back and he chewed his full bottom lip in his frustration. “Fuck.” He cursed, huffing to the air of the empty car and then slumped back into the leather seat until his shoulder blades hit the backing.

“Jesus Christ, that fuckin’ Blake kid looks pretty good for bein’ with that psycho for so long.” A fat cop slid into the driver’s seat and his younger partner came to sit beside him.

“Yeah, I thought his face would be fucked for sure.” The younger man said, sliding his rough fingers through his shock of dark hair and fixing it into a swirly cowlick. He leaned back into the seat and then looked over his shoulder at Harley. He whistled and twisted around once more, before opening his eyes wide and exhaling. “That’s one fine piece of ass he’s got.”

The fat pig turned in his seat and cocked an eyebrow at her, before nodding his head. “Yeah, even he can’t fuck up a pretty face I guess.” Harley rolled her eyes and leaned her temple against the window once more, with a huff. “Hey baby, what is it about your little clown boyfriend that gets him a nice lay like you?” The cop sneered and she maintained her poker face.

“He has a big cock.” She said blandly and both of the officers scowled.

“Stupid slut.” Muttered the fat one and she smirked, faintly, at the bottom of the window frame.

                Her blue contacts shined in the gloomy moonlight as a glum crowd gathered on the streets in raincoats and carrying umbrellas. A tall man stood in the front, lean and quite fit, wearing a black windbreaker with the flimsy hood pulled up over his head and a pair of worn blue jeans hugged his legs. His eyes were a stormy blue but from her distance they were a deep sable, almost ungodly and cold. His handsome face was masculine, set stern with a red-brown beard sprinkled around his jaw and his pout-ish lips parted when he regarded her. His head cocked to the side and the curly fringe of his short brown hair peeked out from beneath the hood. It was as though he were going to say something, as they stared into each other’s eyes and she mimicked him, in a pretty manner.

But the cop car pulled away and it wasn’t like they would be able to hear each other anyways.

                Though he stared after the cop car, even when it was long passed and stood there behind the police tape as the crowd began to disperse. His thumbs hooked in the straps of his black and orange backpack and he waited for a long moment, before walking down the street once more towards Gotham’s Public Library in the slums. He took off his bag as he entered, shaking it off on the musty mat and then took off his windbreaker, before shaking it out as well. The middle aged librarian watched him from the desk, raising her eyebrows behind her reading glasses and smirking as he approached. “Hello Finn,” The woman grinned as he came forward and he spared her a faint smirk, while he came forwards and laid an old crime novel thriller upon the horseshoe counter. “Thank you.” The woman adjusted her name tag over her large breast as she drew the book across the plastic surface of the desk and the man paid her no mind. “How are you today?”

“Fine.” He replied, kind though curt in his make, and he ran his hand through his short brown-red hair.

“That’s nice.” She said bitterly when the courtesy was not offered and then looked through the glass doors as a SWAT car whizzed by. “What was going on over there?”

“Something about that clown fellow.” Finley replied in a gruff Irish accent, as he filled out the slip with his name, the date and the time of his arrival at the library.

“Evil man,” The woman said, as he glanced over her shoulder at the clock and then filled out the time box. “I heard about what he did to that news show cast.”

“Hmm,” The man hummed, unfazed, as he slid the clip board back to her and stood once more. “I heard about that too. And the bank.”

“Oh yeah, but those were mobsters, who cares about their money.” She said, in a low tone and looked around the almost desolate library. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded in agreement.

“There was a woman there,” He said, suddenly, and the librarian regarded him. “Being arrested with them, brown curly hair-”

“Oh yeah,” The woman said and laughed, wry. Her smile made her plain oblong face much prettier before it disappeared once more. “ _Her_. Such a pretty thing. And tiny too. Some attention whore though, going after a monster like that: there’d have to be something wrong with her.” The woman scoffed and Finley nodded his head, slowly.

“Probably.” Finley said in his gruff tone before turning away from her and going over to the long rows of bookshelves and disappearing amongst the clutches of long grey tables with black metal legs. He plunked his backpack down onto one of the black plastic chairs and then slouched in one of them for a moment.

His breath came steady, as he twisted in his seat and fished out his Apple PowerBook G4 from his backpack along with his charger and a metal water bottle. He set them down on the table and leaned over to the pillar nearby to plug in the white charger, before firing up his PowerBook and signing on. His desktop photo depicted three pictures in a line, all eerie and unsettling in their way: Picture of Dorian Gray painted by Ivan Albright; Saturn Devouring His Son painted by Francisco Goya; and finally an oil painting in black-and-white of a naked woman, plump like in old Rome and dark hair that spilled down her pale back. He chewed his lip, before typing in the Wi-Fi password to the library and then clicked on the Internet icon to surf the web.

He clicked on his Gmail and sign on, before sending out a mass email to someone by the name of Hugh-E-Rection 219 @ hotmail.com. Reading as follows:

**Send out an email to your sources, saying whoever can get me information on The Joker’s girlfriend will be wired four hundred dollars by PayPal. An extra fifty, if they supply a full professional observation typed out with no spaces. Most preferably also include any pictures, videos or audio clips.**

  * **Coffin Boy**




He clicked send, then took his water bottle from the table and unscrewed the black plastic top. The librarian wandered by with a cart of books, as Finley clicked onto Google and typed in the Joker’s name. A whole array of news reports ranging from his bank robberies to reckless murder, then came fan pages and following pages (he even had several Twitter and Facebook accounts devoted to him), there were pictures of his “ransom” tapes, a few pictures of the man himself, fan drawings, mugshots, and etcetera. He drummed his fingertips on the edge of the table, as he searched for a few ideas as to Harley Quinn’s identity, but there was nothing absolutely nothing. As though she didn’t even exist.

 _But she was there_ , he thought to himself with a wince and swallowed, thickly. _She had to have been there_ , he recalled the way she mimicked him and how her curls spilled over her pale shoulders as she cocked her head to the side. _Someone_ has _to know something about a beauty like that_.

His laptop made a high pitched noise to indicate the message and he clicked on Gmail once more, there was a response from someone called Raging _Cunt_ 094@gmail.com. _That was_ quick, he thought and wiggled his pointed nose. He clicked on the email and his eyes flickered over the contents, before he switched over to PayPal on his iPhone and wired the four hundred and fifty dollars to the account named.

**Hello Coffin Boy,**

**I’ve heard about some of your work and am very excited to be talking to you. I am also a rather big “critic”, if you would, of the Joker’s work and am incredibly interested in criminology (it’s what I majored in). I particularly invested my interest in his female comrade, Harley Quinn. You will find everything there is in the public spectrum to know about the cutie in my essays: from her childhood to her present criminal life.**

**A real shame she’s straight ;)**

**It was a pleasure talking to you, I hope I get the privilege to work with you again. – Raging_Cunt_094@gmail.com**

                He wiggled his nose at the message, before taking his water bottle up once more and then clicking on the attached file, titled: “The Little Clown Princess”. It included her birth date; her parents’ names; the fact that she lived with her father who was charged with child abuse and neglect; how her mother walked out on her and went on to marry a successful real estate agent; how she was introduced into multiple foster homes and was always returned to her "father" in the end; there was a list of several awards of great academic achievement she had won in her early years; a picture of her in a leotard with a first place medal for gymnastics hanging around her throat. He took paused at the picture, it was in black and white, but it was the fact that she looked so much like she had in the cop car: full-figured and pretty as can be. _Age seven_ , he thought to himself, and continued to scroll down. The report discussed how she had graduated high school early then went straight to university for her doctorates; she went on to be a leading psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum; written three papers with impressive co-authors; and lived a rather normal life until some turning point. Or so the papers said.

Then he flipped through a few pictures Raging Cunt had provided including the girl’s high school graduation and picture of her ID photo for Arkham. The ID featured her smiling prettily with her pearly teeth and a pastel pink eye patch over her left eye, while her wild curls framed her lovely round face. His tongue flickered over his lips as he stared at the photo and tilted his head to the side.

He clicked on the next attached document, titled: “The Ascent to Clown Queen” and it opened with a lovely mug shot of the girl. Her eyebrow was quirked as she cocked her head to the side, her brown curls were tied up into crooked ponytails and a faint red lipstick smudged over her pretty smirk. There were traces of smudged black make-up around her blue eyes and she held a little black tablet beneath her plump breasts. She wore a black and red halved bandeau that was fastened like a bra by two straps, also miscoloured, and displayed a considerable bit of cleavage. Finley chewed his lips, before flipping through her career as the Joker’s right-hand girl and he saved the pictures to his computer. He cleared his throat, then moved on to flip through the “fan art” that Raging Cunt had provided and flipped through the pictures. _Her clothes just keep getting smaller and smaller_ , he pursed his lips and came to the last photo of an elaborate and well-drawn Harley stood a pair of small red panties. Her legs were parted, knees leaning in, like in some anime, and her small hands holding her massive breasts. _I see you took some liberties in adding extra fat to her chest_ , he observed and looked around the library.

Then saved the picture to his computer as well.

***

                Her wrists were worn down raw by the vicious tightening of the cuffs, as the two cops carried her from the cop car and up the ramp towards the entrance of the police station. Harley laid there obediently as they paraded her around through the crowds of gaping cops in her chains, but when they started plucking at her clothing with their greasy, sausage fingers she began to lash out. She thrashed out viciously as they stood in the undressing area and she tore one of their ears off with her pretty teeth. They smacked her with their baton upon her bared flesh and practically tried to rip her clothing off of her before she all but tore the lot of them a new one. Batman watched disapproving from the observation window as he stood in the hall and she shot him a dirty look. “Oh you’re allowed to roam around here now.” She hurled her shoe at the window and snapped. “Fuckin’ cunt!” She slumped back into the wall and rubbed her black eye tentatively.

A skinny male officer stepped into the room, slowly moving across the stone floor between them and Harley gave him a dangerous look. “Are there no fucking women in this station?”

“On call,” He laughed, nervously. “But, Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to remove your clothing for a routine search.” The man said softly, his nametag read Officer Smith, and he came to crouch before her. “Could you do that, Miss?”

“Down to my underwear and nothing more.” Harley said, politely, before raising to her feet and wiggling her round rump out of her red short shorts. Then came her cropped tank top of black and red stripes, along with her Doc Martins, then her black and red stockings that held her signature diamonds on the thighs. “You might want to get a tub and go through those. I have lots of hidden pockets and I’m a hell of a good seamstress.” She joked with the man and he laughed at her, before retrieving a blue plastic tub from the table in the corner of the room.  

Her hands slipped into the cups of her brassiere and she fished out multiple knives before dropping them into the tub, she pulled the switchblade hooked on the side of her thong off and tossed it into the tub as the officer stared. He coughed to clear his throat, as she began to hop up and down to see if there was anything else and the little pocket knife clipped to the band of her bra fell off. “Is…. Is that all?” Smith offered and she nodded her head, before he handed her back her searched clothes.

“Thank you.” She said, distantly, then pulled on her shorts and top once more, before allowing the officer to clamp the cuffs on her again. She tested the chain of the cuffs as he walked her out, pulling her wrists apart while they moved down the brick corridor. Her bare feet tapping quietly on the cement floor and she was so small in comparison to everyone else, like a child.

“Here, I’ll take her.” A mountain of a man came forward and tried to put his hand on Harley’s waist, before she shied away from him. “Hey,” He snapped, before grabbing the curve of her elbow and yanked her into his side. “Stop resisting.” The man growled at her, but he was holding her too tight and the instinct to get away was just that: something of instinct.

“Hey, stop resisting.” Another cop joined with his greying hair cropped short and receding to the back of his head. Another young gun hit her in the back of the calves with their baton, before she went down to her knees before the cell block and the prisoners laughed.

All but one.

The Joker stood calmly, close to the bars as he stared at Harley on the ground and the army of police officers dragging her along to her cell. The grit of the cement floors hooked into the fibers of her skin, tearing and scraping the flesh away until there were blood stains across the pale ground. Then they shoved her inside of the cell next to the Joker’s: leaving her lying on her belly and her hands fastened behind her back. It felt like her bones were grating into the floor, like that wicked feeling you get when you experimented in grinding down your teeth with a nail file, and it made her queasy. She turned her face to the cold brick wall, while the drone of police officers as they carried on with their work and paid her no mind. Gordon and Batman conversed quietly with one another, as Bats regarded the clown and the beauty queen.

“Harley?” The Joker whispered, softly, his eyes flickering around and coming to crouch near her. His hand gripped the bars and he craned his neck occasionally, trying to peek at her face. “Peanut?” The man offered and she simply stared into the chipping white paint over the wall. He reached through the bars and rubbed her soft thigh gently, as he stared at the back of her head.

She could hear him humming, low, in his throat before he went to sit upon the bench and simply stared out at the police officers. “One…” She heard him mutter, in a scratchy, quiet tone and his beady sable eyes flickered around the desks. “Two… Three.” Harley had not the slightest idea as to what he was counting, but she simply waited there on the floor. She probably couldn’t get herself up right anyway with the way her handcuffs had her pinned and she didn’t really want to look at anyone anyways.

Besides even if she did go to the wooden bench, the prisoners behind it would be able to paw at her and the E.D. ridden, donut eating cocksuckers at their desks would be able to gape at her. _They can look at my ass_ , she thought as she shifted and pulled her heels beneath her rump.

 _They can kiss it too_.

***

 _The Long Passed_.

                The air was thick with the wretched heat of a Gotham summer, the brutality of the sun’s rays was harnessed by the stone giants beyond the safety of her quaint, little Ikea apartment. A trickle of warm sweat rolled down her throat and between her plump breasts, as they shook at all the effort. Her grunting and groaning filled the room, as the metal creak echoed off of the white dry wall. Her hands curled around the bars as she tugged at the falling air conditioner while the bulky, broken thing tried to climb out her window. “No, no.” She grumbled, as she braced her slippered foot upon the edge of the window sill and pulled at the damned thing. The black cord pulled taut as it slipped further and further out into the open: she would have been less anxious if she had a fucking fire escape. “Jesus, no, no. Get back here.” The bars of the grating bit into her fingers, as Harley desperately tried to hold it up and it slipped lower and lower. “Get up here, you bastard!” She shouted at the damned thing.

“Okay!” Someone called up from the alley and she paused for a moment at the unfamiliar gurgle. “What number you live at?”

“If you can fix a fuckin’ air conditioner, you can come right up.” She muttered in a low tone, as her front door swung open and Pepper barked happily.

“Hey Harley,” A voice announced itself, as she held on desperately to the air conditioner and she heard groceries plunk down on the kitchen counter. “It’s boiling in here.”

“Yeah, that’s neat. Can you come and help me?” Harley asked from the bedroom and felt him come up behind her.

“Here,” He leaned into her side, as his long fingers slipped into the grating beside her hands and they pulled the air conditioner in together. It slipped onto the edge and she closed the window down quickly on the top of it. “There we go.” He patted it and it trembled a moment before going still once more. His hands came to her bared waist, as he leaned into her back and pressed his nose into her neck.

“I’m all sweaty.” Harley told him, as she tried to wriggle out of his arms and he hugged her to his chest. “I should take a shower.” She giggled, dancing away from him as he watched her and she smirked at him. “You can fix my air conditioner as I do it though.” She told him in a singsong voice, as she pulled her white cropped tank top over her head and he watched her with those pretty blue eyes.

“What are you going to pay me with?” He asked, as she pushed her terricloth shorts down her wide hips and allowed them to slide down her knees to her ankles. He watched, hungrily, as her pale shoulders shrugged and she unhooked her scarlet lace brassiere.

“You can have me all to yourself when I’m done.” Harley said as she shimmed her panties down her round rump and to her ankles with her peach coloured short shorts. “Only if you fix it though.” She teased, as she pulled her towel off of the hook on the door and then wrapped it around her nakedness.

“Fine.” He bit his plump bottom lip, as she turned away and went towards the small bathroom across from the kitchen. “Fine.”

***

_After._

                The crystal spiral descended the sliver tunnel, as Harley wiggled her ruby painted toes and silky brown coils spilled over her damp brow. A fruity stench filled the air, what strawberries apparently smelled like, and the putrid sweetness of it was beginning to give her a headache. She scrubbed her hand through the bubbles, briskly, before washing it out close beneath the showerhead and then turning off the knob. Some of the little shampoo bubbles lingered, even when she was well through with conditioning, and her nose crinkled in disapproval. Harley stepped onto the bath mat and she took a small hand towel from the rack to dry her hair, as she stood wet and naked in the bathroom. She wrung out her wet locks between the gray towel and in her fists, before she rubbed the wretched shampoo from her scalp, fiercely. Then she stood before the mirror above the vanity, staring at the damp tumble of brown waves that spilled over her plump breasts and down her pale back.

He entered through the window, in the shared basement of the rented houses, slowly lifting the rotten, paint-chipped frame of the window and propped it open with a rusted, metal pole. He was lithe in his movement, as he lowered his tall frame to the ground and then rested there for a moment upon the cement floor. His ears perked, as the faucet upstairs ran and the hardwood below the tile creaked as Harley shifted her weight above him. He leaned up against the wall, with his arms curved at an obtuse angle and he closed his eyes for a moment. He breathed through his nose, softly, before closing the window gently and then moving to the foot of the stone stairs that led to the reinforced door in the back of her kitchen. His hand dipped into his pocket and he knelt upon the narrow landing as he produced a lock picking set in a tin case. He winced when the clasp clicked, then waited for a moment for movement within. Before proceeding to unlock the knob and disarm the deadbolt.

The door’s hinges whistled softly as they wound in and he stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, looking around for any sign of life. Though the only useful dog was in the bathroom with Harley and he could only perk his head up, as he waited patiently for her to tie up her hair. The cheap navy hair tie snapped as her little fingers forced it wide and she cursed; he tiptoed through the kitchen and came to stand just outside of the hall. Mickey glared at the narrow crack in the door, as Harley tied her hair up in a loose bun that fell to the side. Loose curls framed her pretty face and some spilled over her shoulders; as his eye peeked into the bright white washroom and he licked his lips, tentatively. His throat became dry and his lips were suddenly parched. “Hmm,” He listened to Harley hum, as she leaned down and pulled open the bottom drawer to retrieve a pair of tangerine orange panties. “Here.” She tucked her feet into the holes and pulled them up over her wonderfully round rump.

His hands slipped into the pockets of his loose fitting track pants and his fingertips traced the faint line of his semi-hard member. She caught a pale trickle of water with her finger as it rolled down her breast and he bit his lip. “Where’s my fuckin’ tanktop?” Harley cursed, as she shuffled through the bottom drawer and frowned, until she pulled out a small white t-shirt and then pulled it over her head. It pulled taut over her plump breasts as they sagged a bit naturally and it folded a ways to reveal two inches of fair skin for him. She plucked at the cotton, uncomfortable, and then flipped off the fan as he disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.

He slipped into the pantry, as she entered slowly and the door slowly inched to the frame while she paid him no mind. Harley opened the fridge, to pull out a carton of creamy milk and set it upon the counter with a short glass. Mickey glared at the pantry, as she took a ham and tomato sandwich from the kitchen table and wrapped it up in some plastic. The intruder watched as she placed it upon the shelf of the fridge and then she took the glass of milk and the dog upstairs. He listened to her quiet footfalls tiptoeing down the hallway to the last room, before he slipped out of the pantry and then crept down the short hall to the foot of the stairs. He climbed them, one at a time, silent as a shadow, while she remained in the last room for a few moments then he listened to her going into the upstairs washroom. The faucet sounded and he heard her laugh, prettily, as someone hopped onto the mattress in her bedroom.

                An hour must have passed, as he sat upon the foot of the stairs, _well_ after she had gone to sleep and he crept up the stairs to her bedroom door. She laid asleep upon the edge of the bed with her back to him and the door remained slightly askew, before he tiptoed along to the laundry room at the very end to his left. He slipped inside, admiring the two full baskets of folded laundry upon the white metal lid of the washing machine. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, before he reached into one of the plastic bins and pulled out a lavender cotton thong with black polka dots all over it. His hands played with the long straps and he brought the triangle to his nose, before sighing against the fabric. It smelled of only laundry detergent, sweet and chemical. He tossed it back into the basket, before he turned his attention to the hamper in the corner and he filed through it until he found a grey silken brassiere with little black bows on it. He sniffed at the cups for a scent of sweet girly things and a faintness of sweat as it had rested upon her neon pink exercise shirt. “Umm,” He hummed, softly, before he rummaged around some more for a few pairs of underwear which he pocketed: one of white silk, a lacy red thing he couldn’t make heads or tails of, and an unpadded pink brassiere.

He tucked the undergarments into his black and orange backpack, before he stepped out into the hall once more and closed the door silently behind him. Only he took pause and stared, wide eyed for a moment. A little boy stood outside with an empty plastic, Peter Rabbit cup in his hands and he was wearing a pair of blue and white pinstriped pyjamas. His pale round face glowed in the dim lighting of the moonlight and his eyes were as wide as saucers, as he stared up at the intruder. He tilted his head to the side and the intruder mimicked him in the action, before smirking and putting a finger to his lips.

The little boy nodded his head, before taking the stranger’s offered hand and leading the tall man down to the kitchen. He sat down at the table, as the man took a Brita filtered jug from the fridge and filled the Peter Rabbit mug with some cool crystal water. “What’s your name?” The stranger asked, softly, as he came to sit down across from the boy and the little boy took one of the colouring books from beneath the fruit bowl. He flipped to a page titled “Oscar the Crab”, which was partially coloured with red pencil crayon and the boy took one of the pencils from the counter before writing out in neat little letters.

 _Westley_.

“Hmm,” The man hummed, softly, before nodding his head and commenting. “That’s a nice name.”

 _What’s your name?_ The boy wrote, slowly, and the man watched, keenly.

“Shark.” The man confided in a gruff Irish tone, as the boy snickered softly and then took a sip of his water. He folded his hands over the table’s edge and Westley cocked his head to the side. “I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

 _Are you really?_ Westley etched onto the waxy paper and the stranger nodded his head.


	7. When the Bandages are Peeled away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A past that haunts is a past not worth going back to.

His cherry lips were dull and chapped to the point of almost being raw, as his tongue darted out over the scars. The inky black around his eyes was smudged up his eyebrows and lined the creases of his face, while his dry hands were splashed with ivory paint. The toe of his shoes tapped upon the cement of his cell, as he counted in his head. The iron cage beside him was empty, after they took Harley away to be grilled by that Rachel twat and even the policemen noticed he was very skittish in his movements. There was something to be anxious about going on behind those dark eyes and a storm was brewing. It was that eerie feeling of spiders racing up your spine before a thundershower and Gordon had a sinking feeling on the level of the fucking Titanic. “How is the interview going?” He asked Blake, as his dark moustache crinkled above his lips with the words he spoke and the image of Harvey’s crispy, black cheek remained on his mind. “Is she saying anything?”

 

“Yeah, she’s talking. But all she’s doing is being _cute_.” Blake confessed and the older man cast a glance at him. His eyebrow quirked above his glasses and then he shook his head.

 

“She’s new.” Gordon took off his glasses and cleaned off his lenses on his loosened tie. “I don’t think we’ve ever had her in here.

 

“You see that’s what I’m worried about,” Blake told him, standing close and eyeing the Joker, carefully. The man behind the makeup glanced around with twitchy eyes and he pressed his lips together, as he looked over the desks and looked to the cell beside him. Then his gaze went to the short hallway that went out into the guarded section, where the “prisoner” was being questioned. “You… don’t think she might change things?” Blake inquired and the commissioner shook his head.

 

“All the reports at Arkham say she’s just full of scrapes and bruises when she shows up.” Gordon shook his head and folded his arms over his chest, tightly. “We don’t have to worry about her. She’s as dumb as a door nail.”

 

Harley made helicopter sounds with her lips, as she watched the lovely Rachel Dawes and her smoky grey pencil skirt. Her mousy brown hair was wavy with tendrils dancing down her cheeks and it was tied back into a knot with a maroon hair tie. Harley looked down at the pictures, all it was, in truth was a collage of Mister J’s cut up victims and the bloody messes he left in his wake. “Do you see these people, Harleen? Do you see that?” Her long, elegant finger pointed down at the brass badge of a dead cop with a smile carved into his pasty face and the crimson rolled down his bulging throat. “He was going to retire a week from that day. Then your little clown boyfriend murdered him. He didn’t even get to see his daughter’s wedding.” Harley cocked a dark eyebrow at her, tilting her head to the side and Rachel pursed her lips. She pushed a couple of photographs aside and then held up a single picture. “How ‘bout this?”

 

Harley’s blue eyes flickered over the photograph and she simply sighed through her nose.

 

It was a picture from Arkham: of her, except one of her hands was up in front of her pretty face and the only side of her face that could be seen was bruised. Her eye was swollen shut with a purple bruise gleaming over it, the corner of her lip was bleeding and there was a faint, golden bloom splotching her jaw line. Her fingers were crooked from when he had busted them and they were bandaged in an ivory coloured linen, along with her hand. She traced the white scar running across the back of her hand, with her hands pinned behind her back with the cuffs, and she looked over the picture into Rachel’s pretty eyes. “Your ribs are still cracked from a previous injury I understand.” She told her, in a gentle tone and Harley leaned back into the chair. She gave the older woman a great big, pearly grin and Rachel swallowed thickly.

“It was from when Batsy let me fall off of a fuckin’ building. And Harvey misses you, ya know. You should really visit him sometime.” Harley told her and Rachel faltered, before she gathered the pictures into an envelope and then left from the interrogation room. “It was nice seeing you, Rachel.” Harley called after her and crossed her legs at the ankles.

 

She took up whistling _Singing in the Rain_ , as she swung her legs on the high chair and the door swung open for Batman to enter in his ugly attire. “Mind the noise.” He warned her, moving towards the other end of the table and he pressed his palms into the metal face of it.

 

“How’s your boyfriend doing?” Harley smiled at him and he frowned at her, deeper than he already was. “He’s still a doll, right?” She tilted her head to the side, in a pretty way, and he pursed his lips at her. “Are you goin’ to smack me around, Batsy?”

 

“I’m not your boyfriend.” He muttered and Harley let out a huff of a laugh.

 

“You sure make jokes like ‘im.” She retorted and gave him a pretty, wry smile.

 

His head perked up when he saw the little munchkin emerge from the hall in front of the bat, his hand upon her shoulder and her pretty, red lips pushed into an endearing pout. He raised from his seat, disrupting his counting, as he drew to the bars and he paraded Harley past him. “Where’s she going?” Joker inquired, his paint smudged fingers wrapping around the bars and Bats simply urged her on to the other holding block. He moved around his cage to follow them, as she moved towards a row of jail cells and was then discarded into the cell beside Jonathan Crane. Her knees scraped across the floor and the Joker heard her curse, as she knelt there for a moment. The scarecrow knelt down by her, standing close to the barred wall of the middle cell and they exchanged brief words. Joker tapped his fingertips against the bar, with his lips twisted into a crooked smirk and he looked at the cage of prisoners to the left. “Shit.” He murmured through his teeth, as he spotted a familiar face and then he looked at the back of Harley’s head. _Maybe if she moves farther away from ‘im she’ll be alright_ , he pondered and then plunked down on the bench once more. He glanced over his shoulder, as Harley moved to sit upon the bench- on the side closest to Jon- and her lips began to form around hushed words.

 

“Is he planning on bustin’ you out of here?” Jon whispered, as he leaned his shoulder against the bar and Harley’s lips quirked to the side.

 

“He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.” She grumbled with her arms folded over her chest and Jon glanced around her to the other cell, where a rather limp looking fellow was sitting down on the ground. He was propped up against the bars and his temple was leaning against the rust. He looked pale and almost gray, as he slumped there and Jon glanced at Harley. “Hasn’t he done this before?” She whined and then huffed.

 

“Jesus Christ, Harl, you’re undoubtedly going to get either maimed or killed.”

 

“Probably killed.” She rolled her eyes and Jon looked nervously to the man. “I don’t think it’s a cellphone detonator this time though… I think there’s another remote with his little henchmen.”

 

“Harley-”

 

“Jon, if you say anything, I am going to punch you right in the mouth.” She spat at him and he slouched against the wall with his arms crossed high.

 

“What kind is it?” He murmured and she made a motion for smoking. “A pipe bomb, shit… The indoor evacuation is 70 feet. Harley, this isn’t 70 feet.” She shrugged her shoulders and Jon noticed the way Joker kept glancing over at Harley.

 

The Joker exchanged a glance with one of his henchmen, sitting in the cell with the rigged half-dead clown and the man regarded him. He was a skinny kid, lanky with knobby elbows and knees. His eyes were a dull brown, small and far back in his gaunt face. The Joker thought quickly and jerked his head in the general direction of Harley’s cell. The gaunt boy crinkled his nose and then looked at the small girl sitting upon the bench, next to the infamous scarecrow. Then the Joker drew his index finger along the scar jutting from the right side of his mouth and the henchmen took some meaning in it.

 

He moved closer to the cell wall and glanced, casually, at the police as they scrambled about like flies. Then he looked to Harley, who in turn regarded him for a moment before looking back to the floor, and the henchmen tapped his knuckle gently on the bar. Jon gestured to the henchmen after noticing the beckoning motion the boy was doing and Harley looked at him as well. His finger curled at her and she sighed, softly, before walking over to find out what the bastard wanted. Only his long arms sprang through the spaces in the bars and his hands came to bracket her skull. Then he brought her in hard against the bars, stunned her for a moment, and he kept slamming her brow into the rusted metal until three officers pried her away from the crazed clown. “Son of a bitch,” She cussed as one of the shorter cops hung her arm across his shoulders and hauled her out of the cell. Harley cradled the bridge of her nose, hoping that it wasn’t broken, and they ushered her into another cell block. She huffed, as she laid down upon the bench and sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for the fireworks.” Harley muttered, and closed her eyes for a couple of moments.

 

Seventeen minutes passed as she was pondering if she would slip into a gentle nap, until a fucking nuclear war erupted down the fucking corridor in the stupid fucking jail. Harley scowled, as she rolled off onto the floor and under the hanging bench. She crossed her arms over her head, while she huddled up in a tight ball and waited patiently for her “queue”. When she heard the keys of the cell ringing against the bars and looked up to see Mister J amongst the smoke. He came into the cell with her, as she slowly got up onto her knees and looked at him. She stared up at him with doe eyes for a moment, encrusted with diamonds from the sting of the smoke and he stared down at her with his smudged mask. “Hey you.” She murmured, a little louder than a whisper, as her ears were ringing and he smirked at her, fondly.

 

Then he told her. “Hey you.”

***

 _The Long Passed_.

 

The crest was sewn into the baby blue fabric with gold threading, depicting a single name across an arrowhead: **Wayne**. _Here’s a hand out_ , she thought to herself in a mocking tone and made an endearing face, _and never forget who gave it to you_. Harley rolled her eyes, before slumping against the window of the subway train and looked out over the grungy city streets of Gotham. The silver bullet weaved through the decrepit, skeleton buildings of the impoverished areas of Gotham and Harley wondered if the criminals were simply fucking shit up because of the horrible infrastructure. Until she winced and looked away from the filth on the sidewalk, after she was almost positive she glimpsed some guy getting a blowjob in the street. “Ugh,” She rolled her eyes and looked around at the eerie strangers upon the bus. She felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny, glancing down at her ridiculously short school dress and her navy coloured socks. “Excuse me?” She asked the man across the aisle, his hands carefully folded over his worn down briefcase and his dead eyes set forward. “Excuse me?” She asked again, eyeing the crappy watch strapped to his wrist and the man looked at her with glazed over eyes. “Do you have the time?”

 

He eyed her up and down, dark circles sagging across his cheeks and a dingy grey smothering out the copper in his hair. “How much?” He asked her, his lips curled down into a permanent scowl and she tilted her head to the side, confused. “I said _how much_?”

 

“For the time?” She gave him a cute sneer and then noticed that he was eyeing her perky breasts; soft and plump already. “I’m not a fuckin’ whore, you pervert.”

 

“Hey, I ain’t a cop. Now, let’s go in that shitter and we can take your _temperature_ , baby.” He raised his bushy eyebrows at her and she got out of her seat to move to another one. She hugged her backpack to her side and closed the button at the top of her dress, which kept popping open.

 

The next stop was in probably the sketchiest section of scum that Gotham had to offer, but the sign read what he had told her and she got off the subway to walk the rest of the way. Although she practically ran it with all the strange glances she got, which lingered, and eventually she reached a section with stores, a pub and a shady looking motel with a sign out front. Harley hugged her thick knitted cardigan hanging off of her and she tugged it tightly, before crossing the street to the hotel. _The White Rabbit Motel_ , read the sign above her head in a newspaper font and the vacancy sign in the grimy window had already died a while ago. She opened the door, hesitantly, and then entered the maroon splattered establishment. The sketchy looking character slumped behind the counter, thumbing through a raunchy porno magazine and manning the greeting section of her creepy tour. _Oh God what am I doing here?_ She crept slowly across the stained carpet to the red oak counter and then interlaced her fingers behind her back. “Excuse me?” Harleen asked in a small tone and the man’s gaze raised from the skin mag to her beautiful face. He admired her attire for a long moment, before he came to the front desk and leaned upon it on his elbows.

 

“Yeah?” He grunted and she chewed her lip for a moment, before glancing down the hall at the dark doors of the motel rooms.

 

“Is… Is there a Bugs Bunny here?” Harley asked him and he cocked his head to the side.

 

“Are you fuckin’ retarded or somethin’, kid?” The stranger told her in a low tone and she took pause for a moment. “Get the fuck out o’ here before you fuckin’ get yerself killed.” He warned her and she clutched the strap of her backpack for a moment.

 

Then she turned away to the door and slipped out into the street. Her shoulders slackened, as she looked around at the area and spotted a little Chinese place on the corner with big windows. _What the hell he said he’d be here?_ Harley frowned at the gum and piss covered sidewalk. _What the hell am I supposed to do now?_ She grimaced and then stuffed her hands into her baggy pockets, looking around. Then she crossed the street towards the Chinese food diner and shoved the glass door open. “Hello,” A pretty lady with her obsidian coloured hair pinned back in a lotus flower broche greeted her and a thick black powder outlining her almond shaped eyes. _It says Chinese_ , Harley recalled the sign and then smiled at the woman in turn. “Would you like a table?” She offered and the girl hesitated before shaking her head. “At the window?” The woman asked, noticing Harley’s mismatched gaze kept drawing to the window; though didn’t realise it was truly going behind it. Then she walked Harley to the long table across the window and she climbed onto the backed stool. “Here’s the menu.” She grinned at the girl and set down the laminated plastic upon the table. “I’ll be right back.”

 

“Alright, thank you.” Harley told the woman, finally finding her tongue and then she averted her gaze to the menu. She evaluated her entire order in her head, as her belly grumbled from a long day of bullshit school work and a visit with the private school’s psychiatrist. Although she didn’t want to think about it.

 

“Alright, would you like to start with a drink or could I get you started right away?” The woman returned in her sleek, leather dress hugging her agile frame and she smiled down at Harley.

 

“Could I get started right away?” She asked her and the woman laughed, before nodding. “Then I’ll have a spring roll, this pork ribs fried in egg batter thing, plain fried rice with the green peas and vegetables mixed in, the six chunks of lemon chicken, and the chicken noodles.”

 

“A hungry girl?” The woman smirked at her, beautifully, and Harley chortled.

 

“It’s the reason why I’m fat.” Harleen shrugged her shoulders and offered the menu to her once more.

 

“No, just curvy in the right ways. Would you like a drink?” The waitress inquired and Harley thought for a moment, recalling the water bottle in her bag from Phys. Ed.

 

“Do you have any juice of some kind?”

 

“Fresh lemon and mango juice with mint leaves.” She told her and Harley cocked her head to the side.

 

“Is that Chinese?”

 

“How should I know, I’m Vietnamese.” The woman shrugged her bare shoulders and then wrote the drink down upon her pad, while Harley nodded her head.

 

“You’re really pretty too.” She told the woman, feeling silly immediately afterwards and her cheeks got a little flush.

 

“You’re such a doll.” The woman batted Harley’s shoulder and then left off to the kitchens behind the L-shaped counter: for an hour.

 

The girl crossed her arms over the plastic encasing of the counter and she watched over the cars humming along the sweaty pavement. She had a perfect view of the motel entrance from where she sat and her hand slipped into her knapsack for her tin water bottle. Then she pulled out her scribbler notebook with a tiny pencil trapped in its rings, which she wiggled out after taking a drink of her tepid water and then shoving it away once more. She splayed the notebook over the table, before glancing behind her for anyone nearby or even the waitress approaching, but all of the patrons were across the restaurant and the waitress was busing tables. Harley looked back to her book, flipping to the entry of her last encounter with her odd friend and fidgeted with the corner as she read it over again and again. The smell of chicken fried rice and shrimp filled the air, as a taxi hopped along the stretch of asphalt and Harley’s head perked up once more. Then the yellow cab came to a halt to pick up three scantily clad women before whizzing off again and Harley stared after them for a long moment.

 

“ **Thursday, October 19 th-**

 

_Mister J brought me to a flea bag motel up in Sketch City, called Hag’s Cunt, and locked me in the room for seven hours while he was away on some so-called “meeting”. Then returned with a six foot rope and a pair of pink and white striped, fuzzy socks. He tied my wrists together with the rope, after making me put on the socks and strip down to my panties. I laid down on the queen-sized bed as he strapped the long, hemp end of the rope to the head board whilst straddling my belly and then he leaned back upon his heels. Mister J then hunched over me to suck upon my breasts and nipples until they were raw and tender. I almost begged him to stop, but after last time I’m scared that would just egg him on._

_He took my panties off after that (even though he kept on his entire suit, with the exception of his black jacket) and paced the foot of the bed over and over again. Then Mister J told me to “beg”, nothing else, and I asked him “for what?” to which he replied simply- in an aggressive, almost animalistic-: “It”. I proceeded to plead for him to give me something, purely under the guise of this “It”, lest he get angry at me again. I didn’t like that very much the last time, but I don’t know why I found it so bothersome. No matter how much it made me anxious and even direly upset, although he was simply ignoring me whenever I came to his selected hotels and having me crawl all over him to no effect. It was like he just wanted me to make a fuss over him, while he stayed quiet and trailed me along._

_Jesus, I was so damn needy._ ”

 

 

 

Harley winced at that part and then snapped the book closed, as the waitress approached with a wide tray of her food. Then set it down dish by dish in an organized fashion before her and Harley thanked her. The waitress patted her shoulder and assured Harley. “If you need anything just let me know.” She told her and allowed her hand to linger upon the soft yarn work of her cardigan. Harley nodded her head and the woman left from her to the L-shaped section once more. Then she gobbled down her egg roll and came to twirl her noodles around a plastic fork she pulled out of her bag; as the ones from the restaurant were cloudy and suspicious looking. Then she carried on reading her former entry and occasionally glanced at the motel entrance.

 

__\- I suppose that’s whyhe likes so much about me. I read a book about people like that, and it obviously concluded with how fucking crazy they were. Although he seems to be rather fond of how small I am- even if that asshole called me “chubby cute” the other day, I almost smothered Mister J when he passed out- and he really likes how tiny I am while he had me all tied up. I flipped through that Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov yesterday, it’s about some creep who wants to fuck a twelve year old and gives her permission to go places, get food and clothes in exchange for sexual favours, all the while he’s still posing as her step father after her mother who discovered his infatuation for her young daughter and was conveniently ended by a fucking car- the poor woman. Then the pair, the little Dolores and the creep went on the run, hopping from hotel to hotel_ **—and holy shit could Mister J be a pedophile?** "_

 

The chunks of broken pork rib were breaded with ginger spices and some sort of corn breading, before being fried in egg batter with asparagus and celery. She ate it with soy sauce and washed it down with the mango-lemon juice, which was very ripe. Harley had polished off the lemon chicken chunks, when she got really excited by a taxi pulling up to the White Rabbit and felt great disappointment when some fat, greasy businessman clambered out into the street. He went into the Thai spa beside the motel and lingered behind the tinted windows for over a half hour, before emerging with some blonde haired, blued eyes chick with giant knockers. “Damn,” Harley sighed, looking out over the road and then kept eating the rest of her food. Her attention devoted to her ramblings once more and she cared to toss the notebook in the trash. Though was mysteriously worried that some guy _rummaging through the trash_ would **judge** _her_ for her escapades in shady motel rooms.

 

__“-Only he can’t be like that Humbert pervert, he has more insight and sweetness than that drab Nabokov tried to cram into that unforgivable twat Humbert to make him a sympathetic character. When he was really just an unreliable narrator at best. Mister J ( a clutch of ever so hesitant pencil marks) likes to hold me afterwards and sometimes we just lay there in silence, or we talk the hours away. Mrs. Hamilton nearly lost her mind when I was late the other day- I showed up at one in the morning, which is an unreasonable time but Mister J wouldn’t let me leave. But I like it, Dolores was simply unwillingly prostituting herself without her knowledge –as she was a fucking child, but whatever- and I like being with Mister J. He gets me out of that stupid foster house, with that bible humping crap and anti-evolution bullshit. –Seriously, I mentioned a field trip to Gotham Museum the other day and I was sentenced to being grounded (though I did fuck off to blow Mister J as if that would teach them).-_ _

 

_Though once he was finished with me this time, he held me even tighter than that other night and drew things across my spine. I think he drew a dagger while we cuddled and he rubbed my scraped up wrists. Jesus, he had crawled all over me chewing my doughy flesh and tracing my girly bits with his fingertips. Rolling his thumb around a strange nerve that I still haven’t heard about in that crappy sex Ed class and it had me, oh Christ: “purring like a kitten” by the words of the elegant Mister J. I could confess that it felt a little nice, but his movements were clumsy and inexperienced in a way- I guess, though how the fuck would I know beyond the Christian prince fondling my tits every now and then while his parents weren’t watching-. Then he- ew, how do I put this- put his “banana tears” –I’ll call it- all over my chest and a little bit splashed across my cheeks and lips. It was gross, it didn’t taste nice and it wasn’t a pleasant affair._

 

_Even though that sneaky, conniving cunt snapped a picture of me from my upper chest up to my bound hands._

 

_I wonder if he still has my teeth marks in his collarbone.”_

 

Harley sucked back the last three noodles from her fork, watching out over the street and she almost jumped when she saw him emerge from a hearse-looking car. He glanced around with those sable eyes, before moving into the _White Rabbit_ and Harley contemplated following him. Then hurriedly gathered up her things and went to the front counter to pay her bill, so she could get back on the first subway train she saw and go home. Or at least her home at the time. Until she felt a large hand close over her shoulder and a gruff tone telling the waitress. “Here you go, keep the change.” He shoved over a crumpled hundred dollar bill and then ushered her out into the street with his arms around her shoulders. His fingertips pressed down harshly into her pudgy skin and guided her towards the White Rabbit once more.

 ***

After.

The phone rang as she sank lower in the tepid water, smoking a cigarette and looking down over the tile floor. Damp tendrils of hair spilled down across her cheeks, as she hung her head over the side of the tub and sighed, softly, to the air of the late evening. It was well past twelve o’clock, as she had gotten off her shift at the diner around eleven-thirty and walked home after picking up banana and chocolate chip pancakes for dinner. She could hear the television running downstairs, humming away to the tune of some old prick narrating the hunting traditions of chimps or bonobos or some person looking fucker with lots of hair. “West,” Harley called to him, as the little boy laid across the settee in his pyjamas and a dog reclined across his side. “West, could you watch somethin’ else?” She inquired, until she heard the television turn off and she crushed out her cigarette into the tray. “Thank you.” The white door of her bathroom opened a foot, before the little boy poked his head through and looked at her. Harley moved to hide behind the wall of the tub, pressing her full breasts into the cool surface and she folded her arms over the edge. “What is it, pup?” She asked him, as he came to stand upon the Ikea bath mat and looked down at her. He came to sit upon the edge of the tub, staring down at his knees and then glancing at her figure beneath the crystal surface of the bath water.

 

 _The phone rung_ , he signed and she tilted her head to the side. “I picked it up.” He said in a quiet tone and she sighed quietly to the air. “The man’s name was Maddlock.” Westley murmured, as his fingers came to fidget with the hem of his shirt and she simply shook her head. “He’s still on the land line.”

 

“He’s still on the line?” She corrected him, then raised from the bath water and climbed out onto the bath mat. The thick, grey towel hung upon the bar and she hurriedly dried herself off, before wrapping the towel around herself.

 

“I’m sorry mummy.” Westley whispered once she left from the bathroom, before raising from the tub and going down the hall to follow her. His slippers sounding quietly off of the hardwood stairs, until he came to the railing and he heard her speaking in a low tone into the phone.

 

“… Stop calling here.” Harley warned the man over the phone and then Westley went down to meet her, before coming to her side. She placed her hand over the mouthpiece and told him. “You can go back to your show.”

 

“I’m sorry mummy.” Westley told her again, as he felt she hadn’t heard him and she simply ruffled his dark hair with her soft hand. He leaned into her hand, before nuzzling her hips and she ushered him over to the couch.

 

“That was none of your business,” Harley told the character on the phone and then she scowled at the railing. “Oh fuck off.” Westley looked over the back of the couch, placing two fingers upon his nose and watching his mother. She slammed down the phone with a groan, before folding her arms over her chest and looking at her son. “Oh I know I swore,” Harley sneered, teasing him and he smiled at her. “Pause the program about those monkeys while I get dressed.” She sighed, before heading upstairs and going into her bedroom.

***

Before.

The gristle of calloused fingertips trailed across her tummy, as they stood amongst the flaming car parts and spray of plaster bricks tousled over the street. It was a hellfire of the ages, bullets punching holes in fleshy bags of meat and sending pock marks across the sidewalk. The slugs rung off the hoods of cars, catapulting shards of glass into leathery seats and ripping police cars to ticking time bombs of tattered metal. Her little finger curled around the trigger, gluing it into the slope of the guard and the butt of the Tommy gun punched past her soft stomach. It chewed up the door of a cruiser, sending the cop behind it sprawling out across the cement with a gaping wound in his throat. The vibration shook her entire petite figure, rattling her plump breasts up and down and inspiring a pretty grin to her ruby lips. Mister J stood behind her, grinning with a twisted laugh and an AK humming a mournful lullaby in his fist. The weapon ceased, as he came to hurl canisters of tear gas across the crimson sky of early dawn and the gas spurt out, thickly. Though Harley didn’t care. She was having the time of her life.

 

A SWAT van darted past them, swinging full circle around in front of them and then coming to a halt before them. The Joker tore open the driver’s side door open, allowing her to climb into the back through the little square and he crawled in after her. He hunkered in behind the wheel, slamming his dress shoe down into the pedal and sending Harley sprawling across the bed of the van. “Eek,” She yelped, though one of the henchmen caught her by the waistband and hauled her up beside him on the bench. The door of the van still hung open, before Joker leaned out while simultaneously working with the wheel and slammed it shut. Harley kicked open one of the back double doors, before groping for purchase on the broken grating of the little window and she watched as two clowns fired out the back. Harley braced on foot against the bench, as she laughed and admired the cruisers spinning across the streets. _Until_ she realised what she was laughing at.

 

Her lips fell into a pouty scowl, as she slumped back behind the bench and listened to the cacophony of laughter rattling off of the metal walls of the container.

 

The van whirled around the gnarled infrastructure of the dreaded city, hopping over the slopes, pot holes and sewer drains. It whipped around a particular bend down into the underground parking of some office building and Harley laid across the floor once it came to a stop. There was dried, crusty blood chipping off of the tin floor and she stared at it with tired eyes. She saw Jon there, crouching down in front of her and she hadn’t even realised he was tagging along with them. “Come, Harl, let’s go.” He told her, gently, and she looked up at him. His face was alive in the dim, yellow lighting of the parking garage and he was smirking at her: for some reason. “It’s time to get up.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and she pushed herself up on the floor, before shifting over to the edge of the double doors and Jon lifted her down from the van. Joker watched the motion, carefully, and his shrewd eyes followed their every move with one another. “You should get sleep, pup.” Jon told her and Harley said nothing, only stared down into the cement.

 

“Harley, let’s go. Doll.” _He_ told her, in a grim tone, and she crossed over the cold stone to the black bug he stood beside. The top was down, some thick cloth monstrosity tucked into the trunk and his boys had already weaseled off the license plates. He opened the passenger door for her, before she climbed in and he entered the driver’s side. She slumped into the leather upholstery and closed her eyes as he climbed into his own seat, shifting. “So, are you ever gonna tell me the story about you two becomin’ friends?” He inquired, gesturing to Jon who simply watched them pull away towards the back entrance.

***

 

It was peeling like something with a devastating skin condition; the tattered cream paint flaking off of the desolate walls and crumbling rocks tossed here and there across the foyer. There was a large stairwell in towards the left of the boarded up double doors of the abandoned _Charles Decker Candy Factory_ , who was allegedly the Willy Wonka of his day with a craving for children rather than sweets. The railing was twisted vine work in black iron with a red chestnut banister and a jagged mouth hanging over the edge of the cement stairwell. Harley hugged Mister J tightly, frightened of the haunted looking hellhole and he looked around enamored with their new fox hole. There was a carpet of scattered dead leaves encircling the receptionist booth, there were discarded syringes and shattered beer bottles upon the beaten up tile floor. A rusted pile hung across the ceiling, busted through the drywall and a murky yellow water from the rain; it seeped out onto the dust covered surface. The foul odor nearly made her cringe, as she covered her little nose and she huddled up to Mister J. Her soft, glowing face was a wishful dream and she cared to disappear to some cheap motel for a night. “Is there really _nowhere_ else?” Harley whispered into his cologne covered suit jacket and he simply ignored her.

 

“Let’s find a room and you can pick out a bed in the morning.” He grinned, heading up the stairs and Harley stared after him as his clowns skipped off into the halls to wreak havoc on corroded machines. Her shoulders slackened, as she kicked away a spray can of empty blue paint and looked up at the large feminine eye plastered behind the desk. Its ocean blue lashes were sparse and curled off to the side, as a bit of red paint seeped down along the ivory wall. She shivered, then turned around to the overgrown parking lot and left to sit upon the hood of the buggy. 

 

It was early in the morning when she awoke upon the moist hood of the car, as she had apparently slept there the entire night and she looked at the grim factory looming across from her. She realised that no one else had come out into the almost empty parking lot that night and decided that she would go out on her own. She rummaged through some cardboard boxes of her things, coming to the conclusion that those little creeps had picked through her clothing and she found that some of her underwear and tiny shirts were missing from her collection. “Son of a bitch,” She cussed, before digging out a plaid and a pair of daisy dukes. She wiped off what was left of her makeup with a water bottle and some tissues from the glove compartment. “Good enough,” Harley grumbled, with a roll of her eyes, and then she drove off towards the city once more. She found a pair of thick black sun glasses and put them upon her nose, whilst she drove across the gravel road towards some cheap motel on the “back roads”. _He won’t miss me for a little while_ , Harley decided whilst she purchased a room and then left to go take a long, boiling hot shower to scrum the scum of the earth off of her.

 

Once she towelled herself off with a grey towel she brought from home and then pulled out a pair of black underwear; skipping a brassiere for the day. Then she tugged on a pair of silvery grey stockings over them, along with a tight, plain blue dress and a caramel coloured cardigan that hung off of her tiny figure merrily. She picked up the phone in the motel room and dialled her cousin’s phone number. The phone rang in the chasm of a mansion and one of the help picked up the telephone. “Hello, is Nina there?” Harley shot out quickly and the young woman took pause for a moment, before scampering off to get her mistress from the vastness of the backyard. Before Harley heard the phone pick up once more and she excitedly cheered. “Nina, I know its short notice but please can I come over?” Harley inquired, though the other line froze and she waited for a long moment. “Nina?”

 

“Yeah, I’m here… Could you… _Not_ come over?” Nina said and Harley felt faint, almost discouraged.

 

Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. “Is somethin’ the matter?”

 

“Harley, my cousin’s here and he’s asking about you.” Nina twisted to look out over the stone veranda and watched as the hulking mass leaned down to align a croquet ball for Westley. “He’s playing with Westley right now.”

 

“What? No… Do you mean Maddlock’s there?” Harley said, clutching the phone tightly to the side of her face and she heard Nina say something in a muffled tone to someone.

 

“Alright, honey. I’ll go pick some up for you.” Nina said and Harley took the hint, before nodding her head. “I think they have your prescription at the pharmacy on Bryant.” She told her, even though that wasn’t a place. Though there was a supermarket with a pharmacy on Tarrent Lane.

 

“Okay, I’ll be there.” She hung up the phone and Nina said goodbye long after she heard the tone. Harley hurriedly gathered a few things into a small, white leather bag with a thin strap and fake gold buckles. There was a taser, a little metal wallet with gift cards and a couple of thousand dollars cash, and a couple of chap sticks; even a compact mirror with black powder inside. Then she headed out in the black bug, driving down into the nicer area of town and passing the stray impoverished trying to escape the depths of Gotham alleys.

 

Then she parked outside along the road, waiting and waiting.

 

It was a good hour or more before Nina pulled up in a sleek, silver hybrid and parked right in front of the supermarket. She looked so tragic with her black fur trench coat covering her pretty marigold dress, like some stepford widow, and a Gucci handbag hung from the fold of her elbow. Harley picked her bag off of the passenger seat and crossed to the street to join her on the sidewalk; avoiding some abandoned gum on the road. “Oh thank God, you’re here.” Nina declared and came to clutch the short girl’s arm, as they moved towards the glass doors of the supermarket. The doors swung open for the pair, as they moved into the aisles and Harley looked around causally for a tail. Nina picked up a box of hair dye, examining the ingredients before setting it back down. She looked at Harley and the brunette shrugged her shoulders in turn. “What? I like that blonde wig you wear.” Nina said, innocently, and Harley huffed.

 

“Where’s Westley?” She asked, hurriedly, and Nina waved a dismissive hand.

 

“He’s with Maddlock.” Nina told her and Harley scowled, in turn, her pretty lips almost a pout.

 

“Why would you leave him with that pervert?” She seethed and Nina cocked her head to the side.

 

“What is he goin’ to do? Murder him?” Nina asked her and Harley grumbled.

 

“I don’t want him anywhere near Westley.” Harleen insisted, folding her arms over her chest and they moved slowly down the aisle at a moderate pace.

 

“He keeps bringing you up every chance he gets.” Nina told her, as they moved along the feminine hygiene section with all the “leakage” prevention products and Nina picked up a small package of tampons. Harley quirked an eyebrow at her and her cousin tilted her head to the side. “What? Are you in menopause now?” She teased and Harley swatted her, playfully.

 

“No, just my birth control has my cycle off a couple of years apparently.” Harley rolled her eyes and Nina gave her a careful look. “I’m not. It’s fine.”

 

“No more Westleys?” Nina pushed her lips into a pout, prettily, and Harley rolled her eyes once more.

 

“I only need one Westley.” Harley told her –though winced- and Nina sighed, tossing it into the basket she had picked up when they walked in. She picked up some Shea butter shampoo and dropped it into the basket, after sniffing the opened cap. “It smells good.”

 

“Does it?” Nina asked, picking it out and then smelling it. “Ooo, grab another one.”

 

Harley picked out another and then folded her arms over her chest. “What was Maddlock saying exactly?” She tilted her head to the side and Nina waved a dismissive hand.

 

“Innocent things. He kept recalling how pretty you looked here, how clever… blah, blah, blah.” Nina walked along towards the fruit stalls and Harley had a craving for grapes.

 

“You sounded much more concerned on the phone.” Harley said, softly, and Nina shook her head dismissively. Although Harley noticed a sudden shift in her eyes, darting to the left over Harley’s shoulder and the girl pursed her lips off to the side. “Maybe I was just makin’ something out of nothing.” Harley said in a coached tone and casually relaxed her shoulders to pick up an apple. Her eyes slyly glanced at a fellow standing a short ways away from them, trying to look so covert it was overt and Harley grimaced. “Can we get grapes?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Nina said in a fake cheery tone and they carried on towards the produce section where a specific stand was set up for containers of black berries, raspberries, blueberries and a couple of tubs with plump cherries in them. Harley poked through the bags of grapes, though they were all molten and bruised.

 

“Why the fuck would you even try and meet me?” Harley hissed in a small tone, as the pair tediously plucked at the different packages and Nina groaned.

 

“I didn’t think you would go out in public. You’re all over the news.” Nina retorted, as the tail casually wandered by and poked at some apples. “I have a hankering for diner food, let’s head across the street after this.” Nina said in a loud, though bland tone and then they departed with a container of maroon cherries to the check out.

 

The diner across the street was particularly empty with only one waiter working; some lanky teenage boy with a folded apron strapped to his hips and bulky lip ring hanging from his bottom lip. Harley traced along the edge of the chocolate coloured wood, picking at the flaking bits with her fingernail and waiting for the tail to come in: only he didn’t. She peeked tentatively around the yellow curtains and saw him crossing the street to a big black SUV. “He’s leaving.” Harley observed, carefully, as Nina smoothed down the kinks in her black bob and watched her cousin. She had a worried look on her face, almost pure distress, and it made Harley’s stomach do back flips in one place. “What’s the matter?” She asked, urgently, and Nina sucked in her bottom lip for a moment.

 

The bell hooked up to the front door rung and Harley stared at her foster cousin. “Maddlock is looking for you.”

 

“What do you mean? Is that exactly what he said?” Harley leaned in closer and she noticed the way her cousin took pause and looked up at a looming shadow that stood beside her cousin’s seat. Nina let out a small noise, as Harley kept her mouth shut and averted her gaze to the table.

 

The husky tailored suit slid into the booth real close to Harley, nonchalantly, and Harley saw the strong arms fold over the edge of the table beside her. The stench of pungent cologne wafted into the air, smothering Harley’s nostrils and the spice of it stung her entire family of senses. “What did I say Nina?” He asked his cousin, in a cool tone, and Harley knew he was teasing her. “Nothing?” He leered at the silent woman and she seemed to have misplaced her tongue in their last few moments of living. Apparently. “Alright. You better get back to your son.” He told her and Harley’s small hands clenched into fists.

 

Nina’s eyes glued to Harley, paying careful attention. “Westley?”

 

“He’s fine. He’s playing with his nanny. Though you should probably get back to him.” He said in a collected tone, as his arm slid along the back of the booth behind Harley’s head and the smaller girl swallowed, thickly. Her throat going dry. “I have to have a talk with my little sister.”

 

“I’m not leaving Harley-” Nina began and Harley interjected, exchanging a look with her friend.

 

“It’s fine, Nina. Just get back to Westley.” She assured Nina and the dark haired woman eyed her cousin for a moment, before slipping out of the booth and heading over to the glass door. Harley closed her eyes, as she listened to the bell ring and felt the hulking presence leave from her. She squeezed her eyes shut as Maddlock slid into the seat across from her and she let out a quiet breath. Then she opened her eyes, immediately narrowing them at the scum of the earth right across from her.

 

He was damned handsome. Though that was all she would allow. His raven hair was fixed into a slick cowlick, peppered with grit of age around the ears and a little in the swirl. It was then that Harley came to the realization that time had indeed passed since her time in that horrid foster house; that the participants in that tedious dance had gotten old; and that she indeed had aged beyond simply her soul. His face was still as young as ever; a smooth, tanned complexion stretched over chiseled features like some old movie star and his eyes hadn’t changed one bit. They were still a little narrow, cruel and calculating, while his irises were encrusted with steely ice. A pearly, white grin broke across his face and the tamed goatee he managed so charmingly formed timidly around it. There was a slight space between his teeth, but it was nothing damaging to his pristine image; just a boyish feature. “Never fixed your crooked ass teeth?” Harley sneered at him and his smile disappeared, replaced with a cold frown.

 

“Never learned to mind that tongue of yours.” He warned her, his masculine jaw clenching around his bitter words and Harley wanted to bash his face in. “Gravity really has no effect on you, does it?” Maddlock leaned back into the booth cushion, his arm sliding across the top and he eyed her, shrewdly. “You just look the same; pretty and unusually _tiny_.” He admired her petite, doll-like features and she pushed her bottom lip into a soft pout. Maddlock smirked once more, eyeing her pretty dress and Harley could practically feel the straps snap. The heart shaped front sliding down to reveal her bare, plump breasts and his icy eyes hungrily boring into her rosebud nipples. “You’re aging like fine wine.”

 

Her imagination was getting the better of her, as she tugged her cardigan closed in real time and hugged herself against the coldness of his frosty stare. “I always had big tits, and I’m aging like milk. The older I get the more they sag.”

 

Maddlock let out a small laugh through his nose and crossed his legs; left foot to right knee. “You don’t get old, Harley.” She flinched at the name and he tilted his head to the side. “Isn’t that what your little clown boyfriend calls you? Did he lead you to the fountain of eternal youth, dollface? Because you just look tired now.”

 

“Fuck you.” Harley retorted, shifting to the edge of her seat and moving to get up.

 

“If you don’t sit back down I’m going to put three slugs in Nina’s head and kill your retard nephew.” Maddlock threatened, going from completely calm to ruthless as he leaned into the table and Harley froze there: standing beside the table. “ _Right now_.” He growled and she looked down at her white shoes before slipping into her seat once more. “See,” Maddlock sighed, softly, relaxing into the cushions once more and eyeing his favourite little **toy**. “Isn’t being a little subservient being much more comfortable?” He quirked a dark eyebrow and she simply stared into the table. “Well, you better get use to it because if you don’t I’m going to call the firing squad.”

 

“She’s your cousin.” Harley said, her tone was shaky and her eyes remained glued to the table top.

 

“She apparently likes you more.” Maddlock said, coldly, and she looked at him. “But.” He said finally, after a good moment of watching her squirm under his scrutiny and it bothered him that tears began to pepper her soft cheeks. “I’ll be merciful.” He reached across the table, placing his large hand over her doll-like one. “And I know how you can show me that you’re grateful.” Harley closed her eyes as a crystal danced down her porcelain cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. “My hotel’s a little ways from here.” He traced the baby soft back of her palm, his calloused fingers drawing the pale scars along her hand and brought her hand to his lips.

 

A misplaced kiss upon her fingers and a sleek Matte Black Maserati later she was in the hotel hallway in the presidential suite.

 

He had waited fourteen floors to put his hands on her, standing calmly at her side and waiting for the others in the elevator to piss off. It only took ten minutes for them to exit from the sliding doors of the sleek silver elevator, into the secluded foyer of the fourteenth floor that housed the entire presidential suite, and finally relieved them from the persistent eyes of the cameras within the closed compartment. Harley stood as rigid as a statue, standing before the little round table in the foyer with a beautiful Italian vase of carnations and a couple of pamphlets for places to visit in Gotham. He dropped the golden key to the fourteenth floor into the pocket of his dress pants and eyed the trembling waif in front of him. Then he pounced upon her, like some six foot two fiend, and his hands clenched around her. His lips tore into her sweet mouth, sucking her ruby lips into his mouth and lapping at her lips until they were raw. He shoved the heavy cardigan off of her shoulders, before hoisting her up his body with his arms wrapped around her slender waist and setting her down upon the high table. He shoved off the booklets and the vase clattered to the marble floor with a smash. “God,” He panted hotly against her mouth, as she leaned back into the table and held onto his shoulders to keep from falling flat. “The last time I had you like this. You were on your knees-” A sharp tug upon her soft curls made her admit a small whine and her head dipped back to bare her throat to him; pale and vulnerable. Harley squeezed her eyes shut, as he ripped holes into her silvery stockings and tossed the shreds to the floor. He tore the spaghetti straps of her dress in two pops and shoved it down around her waist, eyeing her voluptuous breasts hungrily. “Oh God,” He purred, before his mouth slammed into hers once more and he lifted her off the table towards the white, double doors across from the table. The panels were painted with gold paint and the handles were polished to perfection. He flung open one door with a moan as she wrapped her legs tighter around his hips and he leaned back into the closed door whilst she kissed him back.

 

Her lips gently sucking upon his bottom lip, as he slumped into the panels of the door and tried to grind up into her sex. Before he carried her into the master bedroom, kicking the door closed once more and throwing her onto the mile wide king-sized bed. She laid there among the bedding; beige damask scrawled into the white duvet. Her curls danced over the comforter, as he stared down at her, huffing and puffing, and her eyes stared up into the beautiful chandelier in the ceiling. She was glowing like the moon as she laid there upon the bed, all soft and enticing. Her shapely legs with her little feet pointing down at the foot of the bed and they were parted to accommodate him. “I’m gonna enjoy this.” He told her, hands fussing with his Italian leather belt and his long fingers stuffing down into the waistband of his grey _Calvin Klein_ boxer briefs. He retrieved his throbbing member from its confines and he stroked it, leisurely as he watched her. “Tell me how much you want it.” He commanded and Harley stared into the ceiling with dead eyes.

 

Her fingertips curled under the hem of her short, blue dress and she peeled back the skirt to reveal her lacy underwear. “Please,” She said in a noncommittal tone and he watched her, as he shoved off his navy jacket and unfastened his tie. “I want you so badly.” Harley sighed, as he tossed away the plain black tie and then removed his white button up shirt. A stern look had come to his handsome face, as he glared down at her cooing in that mocking tone and he frowned. “Please, Maddlock, I need your big cock to fill me completely.” She said, quietly, and he popped out the buttons of his shirt with his thumb. 

 

“The more you piss me off. The more this is going to be less pleasant for you.” He warned her, carefully, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she arched her back off of the mattress, her hands sliding down her soft thighs and he licked his lips. “That’s a little better.” He told her, as she let out pretty, little moans that she often reserved for when Mister J was pissed at her and she rocked slowly upon the bed. “Umm,” He hummed and shoved his pants down around his ankles. “That’s very good.” He praised her and she kept up the teasing show, much to his pleasant surprize. “Off with that dress.” Maddlock commanded and soon she was just wearing a pair of panties and a sultry look on her face.

 

Her pretty, cherry coloured tongue slid over her sweet lips and she pressed her breasts together for him. “Please, Maddlock. I have to get home soon.” She told him, trying to move it along and he frowned once more, somberly. Then he climbed up the foot of the bed, coming to hover over top of her and he stared down into her pretty eyes. They were lined with diamonds.

 

He pulled off her panties, pausing to press them against his nose for a moment and then tossing them onto the floor. His calloused fingertips tickled up her inner thigh, before pressing against the little bundle of nerves and he swirled his thumb around it to earn a fake moan. It only made him wonder if that clown bastard ever got any real ones, which only pissed him off when the potential conclusion of “yes” crossed his mind and he did exactly what he could to get his thoughts off of the topic. He rammed his cock into her without preparation or warning and she let out a strangled cry. Her mouth fell open in a pretty proposal and he shoved two fingers past her ruby lips, until she was gagging upon them. Maddlock snapped his hips into her, shoving the elastic waistband of his boxers down with his other hand while balancing upon his elbow and the grey fabric peeked down to reveal half of his toned rump. She let out another yelp around his fingers, as he hiked her knees higher up on his hips and he thrust into her once more. _She should’ve known not to mention_ **him** , he thought angrily and rammed his hard on into her unprepared sex, viciously.

 

His teeth ravaged her throat, tearing until her flesh was enflamed around her collarbones and her throat. Harley was weeping by the time he slammed his hips into for the tenth and final time; spending his snaky seed into her sex. She felt disgusted with herself as she imagined it squirming and slithering around within her being; and she wept even harder. His hand came to clamp over her mouth to mask the sobs and he milked his orgasm into her before shuttering. He let out a long moan that sounded an awful lot like her name, as he slumped over her tiny figure and Maddlock panted heavily against her ear. His large palm almost smothered her, as it remained glued over her mouth and prevented any mournful noises from escaping her to spoil the moment. Though eventually he realised he had to let her breath and he removed his hand so she could suck in a mouthful of air, before letting out a pitiful sob. She turned her face away from him, trying to squirm out of his grip and he wrapped his arms around her to keep her there. He pulled her up onto his chest and hugged her tightly to him as she sobbed, quietly, into his flesh. “Shush,” He whispered to her in a soothing tone and gently cuddled her, _needy beyond belief_. Maddlock kissed her upon the brow and she cried a little harder because of how much it reminded her of Mister J. “I’m sorry.” He told her, smoothing down her wild curls and dried her eyes after a moment or three. Maddlock cradled her against his boiling hot figure, the muscles of his chest rippling with the effort to keep her anchored to his body and she hugged him in turn because it made her feel better to be held. _You just have a way of getting under my skin_ , he wanted to tell her and he cupped her cheek, _I’ll be more gentle next time I promise_. He vowed, solemnly, and rested his cheek against her brow.

 

Two hours dragged past them, as they lay in one another’s arms and remained as silent as the grave. It took an extra forty five minutes for him to doze off, whilst he drifted between sleep and consciousness of her strawberry scented curls, only then was Harley able to disentangle herself from him. She slid down to the cool tile floor, the sudden shock of the frosty tiles upon her bare rump made her yelp and Harley shoved herself to her feet. Then gathered up her clothes, anxious to get out of there, and she yanked on her panties and busted dress, hurriedly. “Where the fuck are my shoes?” Harley scowled, kicking around and deciding to leave them behind rather than stay another minute. She pulled on her caramel cardigan over her shoulders and then she left out the door into the elevator. “Oh thank fuck I don’t need a key to get back down,” She let out a breath of relief and leaned into the railing of the elevator. “Now, how in the fuck do I get back to my car?” Harley muttered as the elevator jerked to a stop and she walked slowly through the foyer of the fancy hotel. Then she realised what she must have looked like and hurried from the hotel out onto the sidewalk.

 

It was a busy hour on the roads, whilst she walked along the sidewalk in bare feet and she bought some cigarettes from one of the newsstands. The buildings sucked up the sun’s heat like luminescent sponges and the crystal windows glinted among the elaborate gargoyles. She walked upon the sun beaten cement, like boiled sand, and she smoked a cancer stick. It was a full hour before she reached the black bug and climbed into the driver’s seat, twisting the key. Harley tossed the cigarette out onto the side walk, casually glancing at the bus stop bench and scowling. **Vote Maddlock Hamilton for Gotham Governor,** it read proudly in large black letters and on the side there was a picture of his campaign’s logo. It appeared that someone had already taken a black Sharpie to the bench and drew a giant, crudely drawn penis across it.

 

Harley laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone actually reading this as a series sort of thing?


End file.
